She called the table she set her "family" table. When I asked what she meant by that she explained that every piece had a special familial story. The china was her paternal grandmothers and of the flowery patterned kind –one she would never have chosen for herself but had grown to cherish over the years. The glasses were her mothers –simple and pink. "Just like my mother" she chuckled. Old milk bottles from her grandparents dairy farm were overstuffed with pink colored baby's breath and ran the length of the table...just like her great aunt used to do. The silver was mismatched the way Grandma Lack did it –not because it was chic, but because it was all she had. The table itself, her husband made from reclaimed hickory. It was his first woodworking project and aside from one mid-century looking dog bed it would be his last. And the linens...the linens were all her. Soft Japanese linen that were perfectly wrinkled. They looked like she purchased them in a musty brocante somewhere in France, but she hadn't. She found them at the Libbie Summers Label.