Four Generations
of the Eye
There is a particular hour my grandmothers loved best — the evening, when the day's hunt was done and the laughter began. Maxine Coleman and her daughter Sandra were night owls, two women who opened an antique shop together in 1950s Kentucky and spent their lives chasing the perfect piece across the countryside — auction houses, abandoned homes, a forgotten table in someone's yard. They never met a stranger; they could charm their way into any estate, any sale, any locked-away collection, and they carried a refined eye that could find the one true thing in a room full of imitations.
I spent my summers at their sides, learning that eye — the gift for telling the genuine from the imitation, the treasure from the clutter, in a single glance. It is not a skill you can buy. It is one you inherit, slowly, over years and evenings of laughter.
On my father's side was Martha Chase, Martin by birth — the most elegant woman anyone ever knew. From a teenage start at Sears Roebuck she built nearly ninety years of fashion and flair, kept her own dress shop, raised Kentucky racehorses, and she embodied kindness, humility, and class. She gave this house its grace, and its name.
Vesper — the evening, the evening star, the quiet prayer of gratitude at day's end.
That is what this house is. Gratitude for four generations of women who taught me to hunt, and a promise to carry their art into the hours and the generations still ahead. I founded my own store in their footsteps; now I build Chase Vesper with my husband and our two children, so the eye and the joy pass forward into the next generation, and the next. We hunt, still, the way they taught us — patiently, gladly, into the evening — for the rarest and most beautiful things. We would be honored to hunt for yours.