My Attic

When I was in elementary school—almost forty years ago now—I went to a local public school. Some children lived in large houses, others in small ones; that was simply how it was.

There was one family in particular, a well-known and respected household in the neighborhood. Their home stood on a large piece of land, with two buildings in the garden. One was where the grandmother lived, and the other was the house where my friend lived with her parents—the house we children were allowed to visit and play in.

That house had an attic.A staircase would fold down from the ceiling, and if you climbed it, you could enter a small room beneath the roof.

It was the first “attic” I had ever seen.

Not long after that, I connected this idea of an attic with the words “gabled roof” from my beloved book Anne of Green Gables. In my imagination, my own secret attic room became part of a green, gabled house—just like the one Anne might have lived in.

And so, ever since then, I have carried in my mind a lovely attic beneath a green gabled roof, a place where all sorts of little, mismatched, treasured things are gently stored.

When I began to think about having a shop of my own, the very first image that came to me was that attic.

Then another image followed:a grandmother sitting quietly on the engawa of a single-story country house, mending things by hand. Around her are her grandchildren and their friends, choosing their favorite colors and patterns, making things together. People wander in at an unhurried pace, drink some tea, and say, “I wonder what that is on that shelf,” as they pick something up. They listen to the story behind the item. Sometimes, someone comes carrying a small worry, and there is someone there to listen—to offer a bit of grandmotherly wisdom, and perhaps a gentle reading—to help them feel a little lighter.

That is why my shop is called Attic Nat.

I hope you will come to know it well.