Rufus’s grandfather was an incredible craftsperson, and his house in the Bay of Fundy is a museum to his beautiful vision. There isn’t a corner of the house that is missing his touch. He did the needlepoint above, and punched an old tin can to make the sconce below it.
He made the quilted pillows on the window seat; he whitewashed all the walls. Even the broom closet is hidden by punched tin.
As I spend my Sunday cleaning and rearranging things in our apartment, I am thinking about the difference between a house and a home. You can pay someone a lot of money to make your house superbly beautiful, but you are the only person who can turn it into a home. No one else can imbue your objects with the life that comes discovering them on your own — from making them, or thrifting them, or inheriting them from someone you love. So today, think about the story that your home tells. I hope it is a joyful, handmade tale.