anthimeria

Certain pieces of furniture grab hold of me.

I’m not much for fussy or frilly things, which probably helps explain why I love farmhouse tables so darn much. Heavy, worn, practical – either flanked with benches or surrounded by happy mismatched chairs. Clean lines, sturdy legs, even slightly utilitarian. Crafted from walnut or teak wood, preferably reclaimed and with a past, barely treated with stain. Nothing ornate or spindle-y or curvy at the edges. Big enough to seat twenty friends and family along the sides and serve them a lovely dinner, passed on heaped platters.

My requirements are many.

I haven’t yet — but when I find a farm table special enough to call my own, I’m clearing out the entire living room to make space, polishing the wood with some linseed oil and a soft cotton, and calling up my favourite people for dinner: happy faces ’round a table fit for many, and then a few more.

(I’ve amassed these tables over time. If one is yours, please let me know so I can link to it … or buy a sibling, for that matter.)