Vintage Treasures 1955: A Year of Coming Home to Myself

I used to think treasure meant gold frames, rare finds, and the thrill of a good hunt. I still love that part. My heart still skips when I spot a brass candlestick that feels like it has a story. But after a full year of living inside this business, I’ve learned that my name holds something bigger. Vintage Treasures 1955 isn’t just about objects. It’s a map back to the pieces of us that are easy to lose in a loud world. It’s memory. It’s ritual. It’s that soft ache behind the ribs when the kitchen smells like orange slices drying in the oven and you’re eight years old again.

This is both a celebration and a little therapy. I want to tell the truth about what this first year has been. It’s been joy. It’s been panic. It’s been the quiet bravery of showing up for a dream on days when the numbers don’t care what my heart wants. It’s been me choosing a life that feels like mine instead of a life that only looks good from far away.

What I Thought Treasure Meant and What It Actually Means

At the start, I pictured treasure as the perfect vintage pieces, the old world charm, the find that makes someone gasp. I still get goosebumps when that happens. But I noticed something in my little shop within a shop. People come in and they slow down. They rub their fingers over an old wooden handle. They smile at orange garlands strung like tiny suns. They tell me about their grandma and how the house used to smell in winter. They aren’t just buying an object. They’re trying to hold a feeling.

That’s when it clicked. I’m not just curating things. I’m curating moments. Meaning. I’m building a space that says you can breathe here. You can remember who you are here. You can start a tradition here, even if no one taught you how. That’s what treasure really is.

The Sourdough That Taught Me About Legacy

Sourdough changed me. My starter has a name. She’s stubborn. She’s alive. She’s proof that slow can feed a family and a soul. Working with sourdough taught me what I want Vintage Treasures 1955 to be: a living thing that asks for care. A rhythm that keeps giving.

When someone buys a jar for their own starter or a cookbook from my links, what I hear under the question is this: I want a home that remembers. I want to create something my kids will one day taste and say, “this is what love felt like on a Sunday.”

Sourdough is vintage as an idea. It’s an old method living inside a new day. It makes ordinary hours feel significant. It’s not about perfect loaves. It’s about the practice. I want my business to feel like that. Not a rush to impress, but a daily practice that builds a life.

Orange Garlands: Light You Can Feel

Orange garlands are one of those rare things that seem simple until you hang them up and suddenly your whole home feels different. They smell like comfort and warmth, like the home you wish you could bottle up. They catch the eye in the middle of winter and add that golden glow that feels alive again.

They’re rooted in tradition, in the kind of homes where someone always had something drying in the oven and music playing in the kitchen. Orange garlands are a nod to those times when people made beauty out of what they had. I like to think of them as nine feet of love, ready to hang for anyone who craves that same old-world feeling without having to stand over an oven for hours. They’re beautiful, they’re timeless, and once they’re up, it feels like your home finally exhales.

Shop my Orange Garlands here

The Teas: Little Rituals in a Cup

And then there are my teas, my Little Rituals. They aren’t just for taste. They’re for healing, slowing down, and reconnecting with yourself in small, sacred ways.

I created these four blends as my pillars because life is hard sometimes, and we all need a little help finding balance. These teas are that gentle reminder that you can pause and take a breath, no matter what kind of day you’re having.

Dream Ease is for the nights when your brain won’t stop writing lists in the dark. Lavender, chamomile, and a handful of other calming herbs weave together like a lullaby, softening the edges of a long day. It’s the kind of tea that makes the world feel quiet again, the exhale your nervous system has been waiting for.

Morning Zest is your gentle sunrise in a cup. Green tea gives you clarity without the crash, while lemon balm, ginger, orange peel, and a few other secret companions wake your spirit the way morning light does, slowly and warmly. It’s the difference between rushing into your day and entering it with intention.

Rooted Stillness is the reminder that peace isn’t something you chase. It’s something you return to. Holy basil, oatstraw, lemon balm, rose, and other grounding herbs help calm the racing heart and anchor you back into your body. It’s comfort in a cup for the overthinker, the empath, the one who feels everything too deeply.

Tummy Calm is for the days when stress finds its way to your stomach. Peppermint, fennel, marshmallow root, and chamomile join forces with other soothing herbs to untangle tension from the inside out. It’s the reminder that when your gut feels safe, so does your mind.

Each blend holds a quiet kind of medicine, the emotional kind. They’re tiny anchors of presence, crafted to meet you wherever you are. Whether you sip them before bed, in the morning light, or during a moment that needs grounding, I hope they remind you that peace isn’t something you have to earn. You can steep it. You can taste it. You can let it hold you.

Browse my Little Rituals Tea Blends here

The Plants That Root It All

The plants are where it all began and where it always comes back to. They are the heartbeat of my little shop, each one alive and full of personality. Some are propagated here from my own cuttings. Others come in fresh from my trusted nursery. Some are rooted in my Happy Root Soil, and some are not. What they all share is the same careful tending before they ever meet you.

Plants teach the good stuff we forget. Slow down. Reach for the light. Grow back after a trim. That spirit is why I started Plant Killers Anonymous: The Recovery Group, a gentle place to learn, laugh, and try again. The propagation stations throughout my shop are little reminders of second chances, proof that new life often begins right where something was cut back.

When you take home a plant from my shop, I hope it feels like bringing home a small piece of calm, something living and forgiving that quietly roots for you too.

The View and the Soundtrack

The view from my little shop window feels like something from another time. I dressed the panes with soft stained-glass vibes that catch just enough light to cast a gentle glow. The colors remind me of old churches and kitchen windows from the 1950s, the kind that held lace curtains and ivy in little jars. Above me, the fluorescent lights have been turned into the same cozy, stained-glass vibe so the light feels warm instead of harsh. The whole room feels calmer because of it. It’s the kind of space where your shoulders drop without you realizing it, and your nervous system finally gets permission to rest.

Every single detail in my shop is intentional, designed to make your time here feel easy on your senses. The air is warm and softly scented with citrus and soil. You can browse without rush. You can linger without pressure.

Just outside the window, the birdfeeder sits like a little stage where chickadees and cardinals gather while one mischievous squirrel insists he belongs. Inside, there’s always a quiet hum of laughter, conversation, and music. It’s a space filled with life, the kind of energy that reminds you that you’re exactly where you need to be.

The Work You Don’t See

As this year winds down, I’ve been looking at my inventory numbers, and honestly, it stops me in my tracks. I’ve sold thousands of items, and every single one passed through my hands. I’ve touched, cleaned, priced, packed, or styled each thing that leaves my shop.

That’s the part people don’t always see: the hours spent writing tags, arranging displays, moving plants until the light hits them just right, labeling teas, or reordering items late at night because something sold out faster than expected. It’s exhausting sometimes, but it’s also the most rewarding kind of tired.

Because it means I built something real. Something you can touch, smell, sip, or hang in your home and feel. Big CEOs might move numbers, but I move meaning, one piece at a time.

The Shop Inside a Shop and the People Who Make It Real

My little store lives inside a larger store, and that fact holds a kind of poetry. We’re all a small story inside a larger one. I show up once a week to water plants, restock, and make it tidy. The rest of the time, the shop holds its own. People walk by, wander in, touch, smell, remember, and buy, and sometimes they don’t buy but they still leave different.

I can feel it later when I straighten a shelf. There’s an energy left on things that have been seen with love. That’s why people come back. They’re not just shopping. They’re visiting themselves. They come back for more tea or a new plant or another set of coasters, but the real reason is softer. It’s the feeling. The permission. The reminder that life can be gentle even when it’s full.

The Name That Grew Into Me

I had no idea why I was pulled to name my business what I did, but I’m learning from it every day. This name has taught me about legacy, presence, and what it means to create beauty with intention. I can’t wait to see where it all goes and how it continues to evolve.

Vintage Treasures 1955 sounded pretty when I chose it. It carried weight. It held time. After a year, it feels like a promise I’m finally keeping. Vintage says we honor the past. Treasures says we choose with care. 1955 is a doorway to feeling, a time when people fixed things, gathered often, cooked from scratch, and cared about the story of an object.

I want the business to be a bridge, old to new, past to present, memory to daily habit. You can make orange garlands with your kids and one day they’ll tell their kids how the house smelled. You can feed a sourdough starter and hand a jar to a friend who’s having a hard week. You can buy a vintage bowl and serve popcorn on a movie night that heals something ordinary and real. These small acts build a home. They build a life.

Gratitude and the Season Ahead

I see every person who has bought a plant or a tea or a print or a garland. I feel your support like another set of hands steadying the ladder while I hang the next strand of lights. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for showing me how my pieces and artwork light up your homes. Thank you for the stories you share and the moments you’ve let me be part of. You make this real. You turn a little shop into a community.

So as we head into the holiday season, please support small businesses. They work so much harder than any corporate store. Most are a party of one, and if they’re lucky enough to have help, those people become family. That kind of loyalty and love can’t be bought, it’s built.

If you do take something home from my shop, thank you. If you just come for the feeling, thank you. Either way, you’re part of the story now.

Shop my Orange Garlands here
Browse my Little Rituals Tea Blends here
Visit the Little Shop inside the Big Shop soon

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