An ode to kitchen tables

When you move into a new home, regardless of whether you own or rent, the kitchen is often the first space you settle in. You cross your fingers that the fridge will fit, and stacking your Tupperware collection becomes a feat of engineering. But perhaps your foremost concern is whether you have enough space to prepare the meals that will nourish and nurture your family. When we moved into a 100-year-old farmhouse on a fourth-generation cattle and sheep property outside Canberra, we discovered just how vital creating that space would be.


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Years of being a rental had robbed the house of its shine, but the remnants of its former glory were still there. You could imagine the homely warmth of back to back open fireplaces gracing the lounge and dining rooms and emanating from the wood stove oven that would have sat happily in its creamy tiled recess in the kitchen. Fortunately, the stained-glass doors and windows remain that captured and radiated the warm glow of the setting sun. But old homes often come with old kitchens.

Our kitchen was one of those. While not the original farmhouse kitchen, it was circa 1940s, resplendent in its cream and apricot cupboards, a single short bench that fits only the everyday appliances side by side, and overhead cabinets too narrow to fit a dinner plate. The only upgrades since then, and probably during the ’80s, being the vinyl flooring, twin fluorescent bare batten lights, and two power points. And yes, there was also a white, freestanding, electric coiled Westinghouse oven found in rental properties, infuriating their occupants all over the country. We outlaid a small fortune on freestanding cabinets to store all the kitchen paraphernalia that one generally collects over a lifetime. And then there was the preparation area to consider, or evidently, lack thereof.

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Having felt like we had exhausted the budget to the point of nausea to outfit an old house for a modern family, I stopped short of spending more on a workbench. I vowed to wait for the universe to deliver something suitable, and importantly, free. It would turn out I would have to wait two years for that to happen. During that time, to survive without the necessary bench space required a level of structure and routine that does not come naturally to me. With no dishwasher and a family of 7 to feed, demanded a choreographed effort of washing and drying dishes, in between preparing meals, to make use of every square inch of space that sink drainer had to offer. The kettle had to shift each time my pride and joy, a majestic yellow bowl-lift KitchenAid (sadly no longer with us), was called into action. As it whipped sponges and pavlovas and mechanically ploughed yeasted doughs till they yielded like plump pillows, it would wobble dangerously close to the edge of the bench, me standing sentry to guide it back to safe ground. I winced at the thought of adding anything extra to my already cluttered routine for fear of having to move to the kitchen floor. The universe saw all and took pity.

We discovered a wooden table in the properties’ old shearer’s quarters, destined for demolition. It sat neglected and forgotten, labouring under the weight of boxes containing detritus of a fourth-generation farm. It’s many years of previous service evident in the layers of paint – patina green, sky blue, and finally cream, the top left raw, a giant crack running from end to end where the flour and spills fell through to the bulk bins below. I often wondered how previous beneficiaries of the table used it. What kind of conversations happened as they kneaded dough, prepared vegetables and eggs brought in fresh from the garden, and baked cakes to celebrate any occasion.



We have since moved into a brand new home, which ironically also has a small kitchen, but I am so grateful for the blessing that table brought into our lives. Occasionally it sat almost spartan in its inactivity. But mostly, it juggled numerous acts, all vying for space, but all conveniently within reach and view. It was handy for all those kitchen projects that need a permanent home or regular attention – sourdough culture, doughs rising, kombucha brewing, grains and pulses soaking, and vegetables and fruits prepared for pickles and chutneys and jams. And it blessed us with a space where conversations could happen while we kneaded dough, prepared vegetables collected fresh from the garden, and made cakes to celebrate any occasion. This daily ritual of preparing the foods that nourish and nurture us provided a tangible connection to this table’s past, to the people who used it, and to the love of home and family this table helped to create.

13 thoughts on “An ode to kitchen tables

  1. I’m working my way steadily backwards through your posts and with each one I find something that resonates so strongly with my own life! You write so beautifully and poignantly. The kitchen has always been the heart of our home wherever we have lived and that remains as true now as when we, like you, were raising our family. We bought a large solid pine table 28 years ago which I loved; it saw so many happy times over the years and so much of our family ‘history’ was tied to it. It was used for food preparation and meal times, on many occasions bringing a crowd of family and friends together squeezed in on odd chairs; our children did their art and craft work on it and later, their homework – if you looked at the right angle, there were little imprints of their writing and drawing in places; I studied for my degree on it; it was always my sewing table, and amongst other things I made my daughter’s wedding dress and patchwork quilts for new grandchildren on it. In our move to this house last year, I finally had to say goodbye to it as there simply isn’t the room to put it in the kitchen or anywhere else; it was a sad moment, but I’m hoping its smaller replacement will be every bit as important in our lives as that old trooper was!


    1. Oh I could weep for your table! So many memories. But then it is always difficult moving into a new phase of life and perhaps it was right that you should move on with something different and more appropriate to your lives now. Thankyou for taking the time to read through my older posts- I have had a fairly inconsistent journey on this blog! I love reading your posts – your writing is flawless and so expressive I feel very much there in your space. Looking forward to reading more.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Exactly, I think one of the most important aspects of living a simple life is being able to let go and accept change as a new adventure. I’m not a ‘stuff’ person by nature so generally it’s not too hard to do . . . although I’d hate to have to part company with my spinning wheel! I love your writing, it deserves to be appreciated. 😊


      2. Your sheep are Merino? Wow, spinning heaven awaits you!!!! 🥰 I’m so envious, it’s the finest wool on earth and a complete pleasure to spin. I’ve always been a knitter but when it took me 18 months to finish a jumper because I was way too busy being a mum, smallholder and teacher, I switched to socks and hats only and decided to learn to spin instead in order to understand the whole process from fleece to garment. I taught myself on a drop spindle first, then a very kind lady gave me an old wheel and I’ve never looked back. It’s the wonkiest thing ever but I have had so much fun with it and it is an amazing thing to do, so therapeutic. I haven’t done any since we moved here but with the dark evenings setting in, it’s time to start again. Don’t leave it too long, you’ll love it, I’m sure, and how wonderful to do full honour to your sheep! 😊


      3. You make it sound so achievable! Maybe I’ll venture into that arena sooner rather than later- I did see a wheel advertised just the other day (no freebies coming my way unfortunately). Yes, likewise, I take a painfully long time to knit anything of substance – there is always something else to do. Baby clothes used to be my favourite- I could invest in some very special yarn and it would take no time to make, and they are just so gorgeous. It would be very special to knit something with my sheep’s wool- I would feel very much like I was living ‘The Good Life’!

        Liked by 1 person

      4. Definitely achievable! My biggest problem was the wheel, they are so expensive in the UK even second hand so it was a generous and very special gift. I know there are other countries such as Finland where they are much cheaper because they are regarded as a tool. Good luck – and don’t forget, once you’ve cracked spinning, the amazing world of dyeing awaits . . . 😆


  2. So true. Kitchen tables from the past, and hopefully going into the future, will all have stories to tell. A large solid handmade table I secured for $100, about 20 years ago, is now serving as a fabric cutting table in my sewing room. I hate to hear it talk as I’m sure I’ve taught it some descriptive swear words!


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