This year marks a quiet kind of milestone. Ten years since I married my husband in the yard of our Coastal Maine home. Ten years of stitching a life together, literally and figuratively, with thread, trust, and a lot of laundry. It’s also my 45th birthday, and I’ve been thinking about how life has changed and stayed the same over this past decade.

Running a linen business from home, gardening in the fog and clay, figuring out what partnership really means... none of it has gone exactly according to plan.

But somewhere in the mess and beauty of it all, I’ve gathered a few lessons worth keeping.

So here they are. Ten little truths, shaped by marriage, nature, small business, and soft, rumpled fabric.

🧺 Linen can take a beating and still look beautiful

It’s strong, soft, and a little stubborn. It wrinkles when it wants to and doesn’t apologize for it. If that’s not the most accurate metaphor for a long-term relationship, I don’t know what is. Linen doesn’t try to be flawless. It just holds up, year after year, softening in all the right places. I hope I’m doing the same.

🍲 People always end up in the kitchen

We’ve hosted elegant dinners and thrown-together breakfasts. Doesn’t matter. No matter how pretty the rest of the house is, the kitchen always pulls people in like gravity. That’s where the stories happen. Where hands get busy and guards go down. I’ve learned to stop trying to redirect people to the “nice” room and instead make the kitchen feel like the place to be. Good light, a worn wooden table, maybe a linen runner that’s seen a few wine spills.

🪡 A crooked stitch is better than no stitch at all

Starting is the hard part. Whether it’s a relationship conversation you’ve been avoiding, a product idea that feels half-baked, or a literal hem that just won’t line up, perfection is a trap. I’ve unpicked stitches more times than I can count, but I’ve never regretted starting. Wobbly is honest. Wobbly means you’re in motion.

🐾 Cats will sit on everything

Especially freshly pressed linen. If I’ve just ironed something, it’s a cat magnet. My cat does not care that this apron is headed to a chef in California or that this napkin was meant for a photo shoot. She wants to nap on it right now. I used to fight it. Now I mostly lint-roll my own linens, rewash customer linens and move on. That’s life, right?

🕯️ Some meals are about the food. Most are about the people

Don’t get me wrong, I love a beautiful spread. But I’ve realized the best meals aren’t always the prettiest ones. Sometimes it’s soup with store bread, eaten in a rush before a storm knocks the power out. But if you’re with people who make you laugh, if your shoulders drop a little while you eat, that’s a feast. Linen helps set the tone, but the heart of the meal is connection.

🌱 Dirt is a feature, not a flaw

I used to care a lot about how things looked. The spotless floors, the tidy porch, the perfect pie crust. But the longer I live here, and the more time I spend digging in the garden or dyeing fabric with plant matter, the more I see dirt as proof of life. There’s beauty in lived-in homes. There’s richness in soil under your nails. My linens are made to be used, not protected. Same with this life.

🍃 The best linen colors come from nature

Whenever I’m stuck on a color palette or thinking through a new design, I take a walk. Nature never gets it wrong. Deep green, slate blue, the soft pink of a ripe raspberry, the bone-white of driftwood, they all go together. There’s a lesson there. Trust what feels grounded. The earth has been styling things a lot longer than we have.

🥂 You don’t need a reason to celebrate

Birthdays and anniversaries are good excuses, sure. But I’ve learned to light the candles for a Wednesday night, to pour the good wine when the beans turn out just right, and to make the table nice even if it’s just the two of us eating leftover risotto. If you’re waiting for the big days to celebrate, you’re missing all the little ones. And the little ones are where the magic hides.

👐 Making things with your hands makes you feel human

There’s something about working with your hands that resets the brain. When I’ve been scrolling too long or spiraling about something I can’t control, the best thing I can do is cut fabric. Fold towels. Knead dough. Prune tomato plants. Our hands know how to lead us back to ourselves if we let them.

💞 Love is in the ordinary

It’s not always sweeping or dramatic. Sometimes it’s him fixing the hose before I even ask. Sometimes it’s me stitching a hem on his fraying work pants. It’s the slow accumulation of small gestures that says I see you. I’m in this with you. I’m not going anywhere.

If you’re still reading, thank you. Writing this made me tear up a little. I’m proud of these ten years, proud of this business, and proud of the community that’s grown around these little handmade things. If you’re one of the people who has brought a piece of my work into your kitchen or your home, thank you.

You’re part of the fabric now.

More soon,
Katrina

Ten Years, Ten Lessons: What Marriage, Linen, and a Little Bit of Dirt Have Taught Me