I’ve had home-buying fever since I was old enough to use a hot glue gun.  And while my fever was quelled by marriage fever for hardly long enough while Adam and I planned our rustic+chic wedding, the home-buying fever returned the minute we returned from our honeymoon.  Or before.

OKAY, OKAY, I ADMIT IT.  It totally just never left.

I believe my love for all things vintage and country stem from my grandmother who lives on a large piece of property (once) filled with gardens of fruit and vegetables, tall and beautiful hydrangea bushes, and a dirt road that led to imagination-filled walks.  She donned her and Grandpa’s home with hand-made lace curtains in the kitchen and let me hand-pick wildflower bouquets to place in the center of her table.  And when we’d sit on the sofa with our afternoon tea and the windows & doors open, a faint breeze would sweep through the hall accompanied the song of wild birds.

Early on in our relationship, I begged, pleaded with, made Adam promised to fill our backyard with lavender bushes.  We are thankful for our apartment: a roof over our heads and large enough to give us space when we argue and small enough to create a special intimacy during these first few months of our marriage.

But lately, we’ll sit in our two-bedroom apartment and dream of redecorating a place that is all our own:  mud-rooms created from a gutted closet, palettes of color to set the mood of our rooms, a garden to grow everything wild and beautiful to sit in the mason jar on our dining table, and a green bead-board backsplashed kitchen complete with old lace curtains.