I do not have a significant interest in primitive or even shabby furniture for my house. This is a good thing because there is less desire to keep these things and much easier to put them up for sale. Now, after saying that I must admit that I have a primitive table dead center in the middle of my house. It sits in front of the fireplace in the space connecting the open kitchen area to the sunroom with 46 windows facing the lake. It is a bar/game table with battered top and yellow chippy painted legs.
Why does this battered and out of character piece warrant such a place of honor? The table is from a saloon in Alma, Wisconsin. My great grandfather and his father ran a boarding house and saloon in Alma, Wisconsin before they moved to St. Paul. When I heard the history of the table I knew I had to own it.
There is no proof that the table came from my family's bar. In fact, because it is from small town Wisconsin, where there were at least two bars for every intersection and a bar for every 10 people, it statistically probably isn't related. However, I have decided it is my birthright. Why? Because it feels like it is.
So this wreck of a table has a place of honor, on the oriental rug on the primary flow of traffic. I have surrounded it with 4 1930's chrome and plastic bar chairs. I have capped it with a battered Red Wing mixing bowl. It is my homage to family and my only concession to primitive furniture.