Om vores Collection Stories

Hver kollektion hos Ivy Stone begynder med en følelse, en årstid eller en måde at leve på. Vores Collection Stories sætter ord på den verden, kollektionen udspringer af, ikke som en beskrivelse af produkterne, men som en fortælling om livet omkring dem.

Historierne skrives på engelsk, fordi det fra begyndelsen har været Ivy Stones fortællende sprog; det giver plads til den særlige tone og stemning, som historierne er skabt i.

Coming Home

It happens quietly.

There is no date marked in the calendar. No morning when summer packs its things and leaves.

It begins with an evening in the garden that requires a cardigan.

With the sun disappearing behind the trees a little earlier than you remember, and someone eventually saying, shall we go inside?

The door closes.

And the house begins to fill again.

All summer, life has spilled through open doors. Breakfasts carried into the garden. Bare feet crossing warm floors. Towels hanging over chairs. Windows left open long after everyone has gone to bed.

The rooms have been passed through rather than lived in.

Now the little lamp in the hallway is switched on again.

Then the one beside the sofa.

A match is struck.

The first candle burns on the dining table while something simmers slowly in the kitchen.

The wool blanket that has spent months folded over the back of the sofa is pulled down and rearranged until there is room beneath it for two.

Outside, the garden is giving away the last of summer.

Apples weigh down the branches. Pears have finally softened. The herbs have grown unruly, and there are still tomatoes ripening stubbornly in the greenhouse.

They are carried inside in bowls and baskets.

Some will be eaten standing at the kitchen counter.

Some will become jars lined up in the pantry.

And some will disappear beneath butter, sugar and pastry and be called dessert, although everyone knows the first slice will be eaten before dinner.

The light changes too.

It sits lower now.

In the late afternoon it finds the old chandelier above the table and passes through the glass, scattering tiny rainbows across walls that haven't seen them since spring.

For a few minutes, the whole room is covered in color.

Then the sun slips behind the trees.

The candles take over.

Soon there will be muddy shoes by the door and coats hanging from hooks again.

There will be soup eaten from deep bowls and coffee orders made unnecessarily complicated with cinnamon, caramel and spice.

There will be rainy Sundays when nobody particularly wants to leave.

There will be books abandoned face-down on the arm of the sofa, half-finished cups of tea, and cold feet searching for warmer ones beneath the duvet.

Summer will be missed.

Of course it will.

But there is something wonderful about returning to the rooms we left behind.

About bringing the harvest inside.

About lighting the lamps before dinner.

About closing the door against the evening and finding everything we need waiting on the other side.

Perhaps coming home isn't always about where you've been.

Sometimes, it's simply the moment you begin living inside again.

Welcome Home

Gå til vores Coming Home Collection