I believe there is magic in spaces. Whether it be in a sprawling forest, an intricate mansion or a bubbling swamp, you can always find it in the little crevices. In my lifetime, I have tried to foster magic where I could find it. I’ve found it in our little town of Ashfield, a New Englander’s dream filled with fresh maple syrup and friendly faces. I’ve found it in the dimples of my children. And twelve years ago, I found it in the big gray house above the town fields, inhabited by a sweet old woman named Angela O’Donnell.
I fell in love with the location, the sheer scale of the house, the apple trees in the backyard, but I really fell in love with the potential of the space—what I knew I could bring to it. So every day after I walked my daughters home from preschool, I would bring Angela baked goods and vegetables and chat with her about anything and everything. When Angela couldn’t manage to live on her own, she gave me her blessing and bequeathed her beautiful home to me. Over the past twelve years I’ve done my best to pull the magic out of it—with new coats of paint and fairy trees and my mother’s paintings. I feel blessed that I can share the magic of my home, my space with people who want the most important moments of their lives to be beautiful and intimate.