I’m on my hands and knees under a piece of furniture, looking up, holding a magnifying glass in my hand. It’s a tight fit and at my age, it is no small challenge to maneuver. I’m searching for a stamped name or insignia which might help identify its era. Getting that specific history right for this story is important, but unfortunately, I don’t see any clues.

I am referring to a family heirloom which has doubled as both a table and a writing desk for decades. Somehow, it is both simple and beautiful at the same time. And it is very familiar to me.

When I was a young girl, my grandfather passed on this special piece of furniture to my mom. I suspect it was sometime after my grandmother died in 1954 and he had sold their summer home. It was an old farmhouse they purchased in 1938, which they named Grassmere. The farm lay on 40 acres and the farmer next door used the land for his cattle. It was located minutes from an Amish community.

It was a respite from city life. Their apartment was in Cleveland, Ohio, close to the Cleveland Museum of Art. They both entered the museum’s annual juried art exhibitions; The May Show. They also taught art at Cleveland College.

Given their passion for art, they actually transformed the large barn/garage on their farm into an art studio where they taught students over the summer months. I’m pretty sure the desk was in the main house.

When my grandfather gave it to my mom, she moved it around the house until it eventually made its way into this young girl’s bedroom. It became my desk for schoolwork. It was the first space where I studied and wrote mostly school essays, however, there were exceptions. I remember when our local Geauga Lake Amusement Park held a writing contest. They posed the question, “What makes Geauga Lake the best amusement park in the state?” (I’m paraphrasing.) The winner would receive two free passes to the park for that summer. I knew I wanted to submit an entry.

I worked hard on the submission. I remember one line. “Geauga Lake is not expensive, but it is expansive with all the things you can see and do.” And believe it or not, I won. That success made an impression. I also dabbled in poetry for an English class using this desk. The title of one poem was “The Doe and the Dog.” I still have it buried in my papers somewhere, and I’m sure that’s for the best, but I remember getting an A minus. I felt a certain attachment to that poem. I know that my teacher, Mrs. Beasley, truly enjoyed it. The point is, this piece of furniture is the place where my interest in writing was born.

After my father died in 1978, mom sold our childhood home and moved into a townhouse. She kept the desk and used it as a table. Eventually, it headed south with her when she moved in 2000. There, it became a desk again where for almost 20 years she wrote thank-you notes and Christmas cards. She kept a phone and a calendar on it. When she moved into independent living, she no longer had space and I expressed an interest in it.

Oddly, I did not use it for writing for almost two years. I needed a table and so I used it as one; until last summer. At that time, I was knee-deep in the sketches and photos and writings of my grandparents’ history. Ironically, I had this material scattered all over the guest bed because I never really used the small desk I bought in 2015. Then, I saw the photo below. (Please excuse the graininess, it is a digital copy of a xerox copy of a very old magazine article.)

It is a photo of their art studio. It is the place where they both lived and painted in the 1920’s. And there, on the right side, it is unmistakable. It is the desk. The photo shows they were using it as a table; complete with candlesticks and decorative objects d’art. Now I had a historical time frame.

This piece of furniture had sat in the center of their creative world. If writing was my “art”, I wanted to return to its simple surface and have it inspire and hopefully shape my words along with me. I wanted that rich history of creativity flowing through me as I sat at it. What did this beautifully carved wood bear witness to? It is a tangible connection to my grandparents; to my past.

Naturally, times have changed and I no longer put a pencil to paper on its surface. My computer lies on it. There are a few indentations (whether it’s part of the original grain or not, I’m not sure) and the surface is definitely faded compared to the legs. There is even a circular watermark. I cringe if I did that as a teenager. Overall, it’s in excellent shape. The craftmanship is strong.

If indeed someone crafted this interchangeable table and desk in the 1920’s, I think I would classify it as Art Nouveau. These often display “long, sinuous lines” that flow and curl in natural ways. I think the legs display this feature. It also means this antique has to be 100 years old.

I am grateful that I get to use a piece of furniture which has stayed in our family for a century. It is a miracle it wasn’t previously sold or donated. And if that isn’t enough, I get a second chance to dream and write exactly where it began 50 years ago. I do not underestimate the rarity of that experience.

We moved a few pieces of furniture and a lot of files around to meet my need to use this treasure again. It now sits in a perfect, warm corner with a window. I am eager to see where we go together.