Slow Living
It started at a market in Asheville — a stall selling Belgian linen and a finished duvet cover in undyed oatmeal that I touched once and could not leave without. That duvet led to curtains, the curtains made the sofa slipcover look wrong, the slipcover led to pillow covers, the pillow covers led to a linen tablecloth.
At some point I stopped pretending this was a phase. Linen is now in every room of the cottage except the bathroom. The light in each room changed subtly as the linen arrived — warm white light and linen have a natural affinity that makes every space feel softer and more inhabited. I updated the bedroom overhead to a simple flush mount ceiling light with a soft shade to match the room new feel.
The wrinkles stopped bothering me around the time the second curtain panel went up. Linen wrinkles the way old wood shows its grain — evidence of material and time. A perfectly ironed linen curtain looks wrong to me now, like a person dressed too formally for their own home.
I still buy linen. There are probably things in this house that have not been converted yet. Give me time.