Living in a one-horse town means excitement comes in small, often unexpected doses. The other night, I popped into our local general store for something as mundane as cheese. As I wandered past the usual shelves, something caught my eye—and I actually laughed out loud. There, tucked in a corner, was an entry table in the exact same color and pattern as a furniture set I inherited years ago. It was solid oak, made in North Carolina sometime in the ’90s, or so I was told. I hadn’t even realized a piece was missing until I saw it standing there.
I stared at it for a while, amused and oddly delighted. It matched perfectly—same wood grain, same warm, orangey hue I jokingly call “millennial orange oak.” But I was there for cheese, not furniture, so I left it behind. The moment I got home, I regretted it. That table had clearly been waiting for me. I couldn’t stop thinking about how rare it is to stumble upon something that fits so seamlessly into your life, especially when you weren’t even looking for it.
The next morning, I called the store and asked if it was still there. It was. I asked my husband to swing by and pick it up on his way home, and bless him, he did. When he walked through the door with that table in his arms, it felt like completing a puzzle I didn’t know I’d started. It wasn’t just a piece of furniture—it was a piece of continuity, a quiet little victory in the middle of my otherwise uneventful week.
I’ve always loved that old set, even if the color isn’t quite my style anymore. There’s something comforting about its sturdiness, its history. It’s not flashy, but it’s dependable—like the town I live in. Still, I’ve been thinking about sanding it down and giving it a new finish, something that feels more like me now. A fresh coat of paint, a softer tone. Something that honors its past but makes space for the present.
What I’d really love to know is where it came from. Who made it? What was this pattern called? I’ve searched online but haven’t found a match. All I know is it’s solid oak and built to last. If anyone out there recognizes it, I’d love to hear from you. There’s something deeply satisfying about tracing the roots of the things we live with—especially when they’ve quietly followed us through the years.
So yes, my life may be quiet, even dull by some standards. But every now and then, a little magic sneaks in—like a forgotten table waiting patiently in a general store. And in those moments, I’m reminded that joy doesn’t always come from grand gestures. Sometimes, it’s just a perfect match in a place you’d never expect, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, the universe is paying attention.
