At a recent social event in Lunenburg, a seasonal resident from Toronto asked what kind of rug was appropriate for an old South Shore home.  I said that the key to any interior design scheme is to work WITH the existing character of your home rather than against it.  For example, in the old parlour of my “Lunenburg Bump” home, I have placed a Persian rug of rich blues and cream upon the old pine floors amidst the old pine cabinetry.  The furniture is 1930’s modern.  I have not tried to cover the look of the pine, but rather provide a visual counterpoint with a luxuriously coloured rug and very sleek chrome and black leather furniture.  My friend was taken aback at the combination, but upon seeing the room she was positively floored (rug humour).  She later asked where to find a good rug in Nova Scotia.  We discussed several local rug-hooking studios, auctions, internet sites like www.tufenkian.com, the Persian rug bazaar that regularly travels from Calgary (www.houseofpersianrugs.com), and the occasional sale at the Captain’s House.  With all of the choices, I told her, don’t just buy a rug.  Rather, invest in artistry and make the rug a personal touchstone, whether to the heritage of Lunenburg County or to faraway places loved and traveled…. 

Fifteen years ago, my wife and I wandered into a rug and carpet bazaar in Nairobi and were overwhelmed by a giant “rug” hanging on the wall—at least 12 feet wide with only 10 feet of the length exposed on the wall.  The rest was rolled up on the floor.  The rug was so large that it seemed more like a theatrical backdrop.  The pattern was disturbing—rows and rows of army tanks.  Soldiers running with rifles created the border.  The shopkeeper noticed our incredulous stares and pointed to the top left corner where the leading edge tank was firing.  We were then duly educated about the life of these rug-makers.  This was a “war-rug” from Afghanistan.  An entire generation of rug-makers had matured to the sights and sounds of Soviet occupation.  Naturally, it seemed, some of the rugs were now featuring the current (1988) sights and sounds of war-torn Afghanistan (see www.junkbiz.com for more information on war rugs—check out the links!).  These rugs were not just decoration, but rather a cultural history.  Though mesmerized by the war rugs, we opted for a 10-foot Bukhara hall runner that still graces my family’s home in Texas.  

In 1987, I was traveling with a museum group through the interior of China.  Upon arrival in Hohhot, Inner Mongolia, we were met with a 4-hour sandstorm.  Eventually, we made our way to one of the dirty, industrial centres for China’s rug industry.  The sky was black with pollution.  Inside the factory, the floors were layered with hay to control the clouds of dust.  Young women attended huge floor-to-ceiling looms, slowing tying their knots into glorious patterns that would eventually adorn the floors of Western Society.  I bought a small 3’x5’ rug.  The pattern was an olive-green background with three Chinese symbols representing peace, prosperity, and happiness, all surrounded by a black border—simple and beautiful, but not a reflection of these workers’ lives.  We spent the night in a Mongolian yurt (Google it), surrounded by the Northern grasslands.  The floor of our yurt was layered with rugs like those in the factory.  They provided much needed warmth on that cold night.  My souvenir rug was strapped to my back for the next 3 weeks.  Now, with one glance to the floor, those days are not forgotten.   

My friend was inspired to find her own touchstone.  Hand-made rugs tell a story.  They are colourful, soft reminders of life’s hardships and good fortune whether crafted in the Middle East, China, or Lunenburg County.  Welcome them into your home.