In the 1990's, my husband and I rented and later bought my grandmother's little old farmhouse. It was the house my dad grew up in. It was the house me and my little family spent 13 years in.
We had the same neighbors that my dad grew up with. The same neighbors I knew as a child. The same neighbors that were on my grandma’s party line.
Our little farmhouse when my grandmother lived in it.
It started as a chicken coop in the 1930s or 1940s. By the time my grandmother bought it, it had become a house. According to family lore, the original farmhouse on the property burned down, and the owners moved into the chicken coop. They gradually added to it, transforming it into a livable home.
That marked the beginning of the enormous task of reconstructing a house within a house, a massive project that took many months to complete.
During the process, I collected old windows and unearthed artifacts. Some I kept, including one window that became my sprinkle cupboard, which I've posted about on Instagram many times.
Another window became part of my home décor, finding its place in various spots over the years.
There's something captivating about vintage windows. I often find myself imagining the views they once framed and the scenes others saw through them
When I had the opportunity to host my niece's bridal shower, I brought it out again. I stapled some string to the back, draped it in the front, and used clothespins to hang photos of the bride and groom.



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