Styling: Jeanette Lindell Foto: Minna Mercke SchmidtA chair, much like the one in the photo, sits in my family room. I first laid eyes on it many years ago. It was sitting in the bedroom of my husband's mother. Overflowing with clothes that had been hanging on a clothesline in the sunshine only a few hours earlier and were now waiting to be folded, its features were all but completely obscured.
It had originally belonged to a lifelong family friend, to whom she always referred as Cousin Clair. I noticed one of the arms peeking out from under the clothes. I found myself removing the clothes in search of what was hidden beneath. When she realized that I liked it, she insisted that I take it home that very day. A frugal country woman, my mother-in-law eschewed all things "fancy." This chair is most certainly not fancy. I love its rustic nature, and I enjoy the idea that many babies have probably been rocked into slumber by its soothing motion. Most of all, it's a gentle reminder of a pleasant memory.
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