With calloused hands and quiet determination, I crafted a rocking chair from reclaimed oak—each curve sanded smooth, each joint fitted tight. Its gentle sway became the heartbeat of the living room. Emboldened, I turned to the rest of the house: built shelves from salvaged barn wood, stitched curtains from faded quilts, and refinished a dining table that now bears the marks of shared meals. Every piece tells a story—of patience, resourcefulness, and love. The house no longer felt empty; it hummed with warmth, history, and the soft creak of that chair rocking late into the night. Home, finally, was whole.
