this is the story of how jeremy loved me so much, that he went out in the winter and built me a table.
I love our city, but many days, I wake up and wish we lived on a farm. a real one with land and animals and quiet. and then I remember that our home is perfect for me because although it is in the city, it’s also 100 years old, and was built at the same time as a charming old farmhouse. and instead of the isolation of a farmhouse, we have a hearty garden in our back yard, and a nearly constant in and out of welcomed visitors each day and each night, stopping by to say hi, give a meaningful little gift, share a cup of hot tea or a hearty meal. and those hearty meals are one of my favorite parts of life. my amazing husband and I don our aprons, chop side by side while listening to the tallest man on earth, and we cook for the ones we love. the only problem was the table. a small, character-less piece from a cheap local furniture mart that never seemed to fit everyone… and so, in the cold winter air, my hero aka jeremy parsons collected wood, tools, and hot coffee and built me a poor-man’s, farm style, dining room table. it can comfortably fit 12 of our most honored guests around it, and I love it.
I love it because he loved me enough to do it, and do it joyfully.
I love it because it is like him: imperfect and filled with character and quirky details that I adore.
I love it because it is now a piece of our history, an heirloom that will become an important symbol to our 3 boys.
I can just hear them 20 years from now, telling the one they love, “. . . I remember eating on that table my whole life. my dad built it for my mom during the winter when they were young.”