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If my shells could speak…

With summer officially underway, as I walked along the beach I found myself, once again, fondly thinking of the place that seashells has in my family memories. 

Most of the shells in my home tell a story. For example, the gorgeous shell that I dove for in the Caribbean when I was crewing at the age of 20 years old.

Ever since my girls were young, we purposefully collected seashells from our travels. With shells in Bay Head after hurricane Sandy, we found a piece of driftwood to create our “Home Sweet Home” sign.

We created a shell mirror from oyster shells collected at the beach in my hometown.

We have shell garlands from the beach in Normandy, France where my mum spends part of her year.

Our most precious shell garland comes from the breathtaking Whangapoua beach in New Zealand. All the shells were worn down, creating a hole so we wore them as rings while our friends taught us how to weave crowns from the grasses. What a magical day! I also brought back some huge mussel and oyster shells that sit in a glass vase on my coffee table.

Having any objects that bring back treasured memories is what makes a house a home in my opinion!

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