Beginnings of Clean Slate Goods: Part 1 - The Call

It was around the fall of 2011, I was bustling around the kitchen, doing what moms-of-young-kids do, making the most of a spare moment while our two young boys were napping or entertained by cartoons. And that's when the call came. It was my friend and jogging buddy, Carrie, and she had an idea. She'd had a light-bulb moment while searching for reclaimed wood frames on Etsy: why buy the frames when she could totally make them herself; and sell them; and rope in a friend (i.e. me) in her reclaimed-frame-making venture?

I thought she was nuts. 

Not that the idea was a bad one, or that I wouldn't enjoy jumping in, but I had a 2 and 5 year old and was in the midst of a major home renovation and upcoming move. There was no way I could imagine adding one more thing.

Not a chance. 

At least not yet.

Thus the seed was planted.

And that seed of an idea was still there many months later when Carrie off-handedly mentioned they were replacing their old picket fence.

"Well, that old fence could make some really cool frames," I told her. And she agreed.

And that's how her husband and mine found themselves hauling loads of old, dirty pickets over to our newly renovated house and depositing them into our garage. 

They scratched their heads and thought we were nuts.

"So how long do we have to store these before I can burn them?," my husband asked. "Three years," I responded. "Give me three years."

Honestly, I don't know why I gave him that timeframe, (seriously, 3 years for a huge pile of pickets to collect dust and spider webs in our garage?!) but that's what came to me in the moment, and being the supportive husband that he is, Jason didn't balk (much) at my timeline.

The clock was ticking.

And as the clock ticked, life threw our family some unexpected curveballs that would set the wheels in motion for what would one day land us in opening a fair trade and for-good gift boutique called Clean Slate Goods. 

Stick with me, I promise those dirty old pickets won't lay forgotten.