Interior: Where the Light Pours In

Some spaces feel like they’ve always been waiting to come to life. This kitchen was one of them.

The client came to me with a vision that felt equal parts gentle and grounded—something modern, but still soft around the edges. She wanted a space that felt like a warm morning hug. One that held the spirit of a quiet cottage but still belonged in a bustling, lived-in home. Most of all, she asked for plants. A lot of them. The kind that thrive in sunlight and spill gently over the edges of their pots, making even a weekday afternoon feel like spring.

We began with color. The cabinetry below the counters is painted in the lightest olive green—a shade that somehow feels like a walk through a garden. We paired that with classic butcher block countertops, because there’s something about natural wood that makes a space feel welcoming, no matter how tidy or busy the day becomes. The upper cabinets are finished in a crisp white to brighten the space and bring balance, especially as light floods in from the giant bay windows above the farmhouse sink.

And oh, the light.

There’s something beautiful about the way the sun finds this kitchen. It comes in quietly but confidently, pouring through those bay windows like it’s been invited. The wide windowsill has become a home for dozens of potted plants—some delicate, some bold, all of them thriving in the warmth of the day. Just in front of the sink, a rug reads “Plant Lady,” and it feels like a smile. A small detail that says: this space is loved.

The hardware throughout is matte black iron, a subtle contrast that grounds the space without weighing it down. White subway tile lines the backsplash—simple, timeless, and easy to keep clean no matter what’s cooking. And underfoot, wide wooden planks stretch the length of the room, tying everything together in one smooth, natural sweep.

We let the farmhouse touches settle in quietly—vintage tins for cookies and sugar, woven baskets for bread, and a little iron rack filled with spices ready for the next recipe. These aren’t just decorative choices; they’re the kinds of details that grow with a family. That collect memories. That remind us we’re home.

It’s the kind of kitchen that invites people in. Not just for meals, but for moments. For standing barefoot at the sink as the sun rises, or stirring soup on a quiet Sunday. It’s a space built not only for how we live, but for how we want to feel while we do it.