By Anna Harper Reehm, Restoration Relics & Co.
Photography by Sandi Davis
If you had asked me years ago where my creative energy first showed up, I would have taken you straight back to high school — to holiday décor, pageant hair and makeup, sorority life, and the joy of helping friends get ready for something special. I didn’t know it then, but I was already chasing transformation — the before and after, the moment something ordinary becomes meaningful.
Owning my first home shifted that creativity into a new space. Suddenly there were rooms to imagine, walls to rethink, and in our country home, repairs that required more than a vision board — they required power tools. I’ve now remodeled both of my homes, and in the process I discovered that I am equal parts dreamer and meticulous planner. I can see a finished space in my mind long before it exists, but I also want every detail to be just right. Collaboration with other creative people fuels me, but the vision — that always comes first.
For 24 years, my professional life was lived in a completely different world. I worked in pharmaceutical and medical device sales, building relationships with physicians and their staffs — people I still treasure deeply. I loved learning the science behind the medicine: anatomy, disease states, the ways treatments could improve someone’s life in our community. It was meaningful work, and it gave me friendships that will last forever. But sometimes life gently — and not so gently — redirects us.
After losing my pharmaceutical position, I moved into surgical device sales, and that season made something very clear: it wasn’t the kind of life I wanted as a mom. Our son Ash was growing up, and I realized I had “five summers” left before those childhood years would be gone. My husband, Clark, looked at me and said the words that changed everything: Just go for it. So I did — with a broken pharmaceutical heart, a whole lot of fear, and the steady encouragement of my village.
Before: Dining Table In Process
Dining Table After
Restoration Relics & Co. wasn’t born with a grand opening or a business plan. It began in February 2023 with two matching dressers I found on Facebook Marketplace. I painted them, changed the hardware, and sold them within an hour of posting them online. At the time it felt like hosting tiny garage sales on social media — an unwinding little dream that kept growing through word of mouth and repeat clients.
Truthfully, I lost money on those first pieces — but I gained confidence. I studied other furniture artists, invested in better tools (my husband now has an endless gift list for me), and taught myself how to create finishes that are not only beautiful but lasting. Little by little, people began asking me for custom work, for design advice, and for help bringing their pieces back to life. That first pair of 1970s dressers? I still wish they were in my own home. They were that cool.
Every restoration begins with a conversation. My clients and I dream together first — exchanging ideas, gathering inspiration photos, building a shared vision. Then the real work starts. Each piece is cleaned, repaired, and carefully prepped — drawers removed, hardware taken off, surfaces degreased, sanded, primed, painted or stained, sealed, and finally reassembled with all the finishing touches. It’s a detailed, sometimes tedious process, but it’s also deeply satisfying. Most projects return home within about two weeks, depending on the design and repairs.
And here’s the truth: I work with a variety of budgets, but the one non-negotiable is communication. This is personal work. These pieces carry stories. That’s what I love most — saving something from the landfill, taking a dated piece and making it fresh, or — my favorite — restoring an heirloom so that the past lives on in someone’s home today. Baby furniture. A grandmother’s dresser. A dining table where generations gathered. When clients cry happy tears at the reveal, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Their gratitude is good medicine for my soul.
Are there challenges? Of course. I worry about disappointing someone, about damaging a family treasure, about cutting off a finger (occupational hazard!), about my back, my equipment — the list can feel endless. But fear is part of doing something that matters. This business gave me back my time, my creativity, and a front-row seat to the years that matter most with my family.
It also taught me something I didn’t expect: Restoration isn’t just about furniture. It’s about people. It’s about memories. It’s about having the courage to say yes when life offers you a second act. So if you have a piece tucked away in a garage, a family heirloom that needs new life, or even a dream you’ve been too afraid to begin — consider this your sign. Let’s restore it!
Because sometimes the most beautiful transformations aren’t just what happens to the furniture — it’s what happens to us in the process.