My father offered me this desk out of the blue last month. When I was growing up in this house it sat in this exact spot under the window in this bedroom, and was his personal spot. He wrote his letters, journals, and sermons in his tiny, unfathomable handwriting here.
Somehow I never knew that it was also the actual schoolteacher's desk when this building was a real school in the 1920s, 30s, and 40s. Thrilling!!
Then I'd been keeping an eye out at thrift stores for a chair I could use. Loving this one I found for $10. Sturdy, white-painted, but with this strange seat panel that happens to match my bedroom floor perfectly--until that floor gets repainted in spring weather. I won't be repainting the seat though.