Carmen Brock and her house felt like strangers in the summer of 2020. Brock, the beloved owner of home goods shop Trohv, had spend the past 14 years living and breathing her store on the Avenue, which often meant ignoring her Victorian-style rowhome on Guilford Avenue, in the heart of Charles Village. It was merely a place to rest her weary head.

When, due to the weight of the pandemic, Trohv closed for good in August 2020, suddenly Brock, who was a Baltimore City middle school teacher before opening Trohv, found herself only being at home. And a reintroduction began.

“It really was a refuge—with the shop and even when I was teaching, I just wasn’t here that much,” she says.

But when Brock found herself unmoored, it was her home that she craved.

“I’m truly head over heels for the comfort that your own space can bring you,” she says. “It’s not just comfort, it’s also a place where I was experiencing loneliness and heartbreak. A safe, tender place where I could mourn Trohv. It felt like it held me.”

When Brock and her ex-husband bought the house in 2002, the housing market was “bananas,” she says. It was the fourth house they put a bid on. “I was so happy that I got it. The community here really takes notice and care of each other.”

The house, built in 1914, had good bones. “I was so drawn to the skeleton of this place, and I love sharing walls,” says Brock, who grew up on a cattle and tobacco farm in Kentucky. “I know that can be annoying when it comes to gatherings or parties, but I actually really love it. I had never been exposed to rowhomes before.”

The home was in incredible shape when she first moved in, and the original wood floors are still a gorgeous honey color with an impressive inlay border throughout her family and dining room. Tucked in the middle of the block, the 2,000-square-foot home also gets bathed in natural light thanks to three skylights scattered throughout.

While Brock’s house is not a Trohv showroom, “there is definitely a relationship there.” She describes it “almost like a sibling relationship in a way. If I was picking or buying or searching or rummaging for the shop and I found something that felt really special and I just absolutely fell in love with it, I would keep it.”

One of the best things about Brock’s home is its deliberateness. Every piece has a personal connection to Brock, and her design philosophy seems to be “worth the wait.” She got her very first coffee table 10 years after she moved into her house. She buys things piece by piece over months, years, even decades, as opposed to trying to outfit a room all at once, which she knows is not the norm.

“It’s not necessarily the approach people want to take,” she admits. “But that’s how I’ve put my house together. I just didn’t have a coffee table until I found the one that I wanted.”

Brock and her coffee table met at the Brimfield Antique Flea Market in Massachusetts, an annual show that spills out over acres of land. The table, one of 15, looked like a gallon drum and a barrel had a baby. In fact, it wasn’t a table at all. It had giant arms on it and had been used for preserving cans in a big factory. Brock went ahead and bought all 15, then loaded them onto a huge truck, drove them back to Baltimore, rolled them into Trohv, removed the arms—“I took a welding class in high school”—and sold 14 of them. The fifteenth went into her house. It now sits in her front room, nestled between her couches. It’s so heavy she often jokes it conveys with the house. “I don’t expect to move it—but it’s fine.”

Brock’s house was also completely rugless until a trip to Morocco in 2019, where she bought six rugs. “Half went to the shop and the other half stayed here.”

All of Brock’s stories are like this—an adventurous tale that ends with a special purchase, all told in her soothing drawl.

“My friend and I were staying at this ashram thing and there was a rug in our room, and I just asked the guy if he’d be willing to let me pay for it. And was he was like, ‘Yes, it’s disgusting. It’s been here for like 20 years.’” In the end she shoved three rugs into a suitcase and took the other three in her carry-on. “Isn’t it ridiculous,” she chuckles. But the thing about Brock is you don’t feel like it is. It feels like it’s always worth it for the right piece.

There’s the coat rack in the front entrance of her home with “New York School of Art & Design” messily written on a piece of green tape that’s still stuck on the side. “It’s definitely one of my favorite things,” she says. “I think that if it could talk, just the minds and ideas that have brushed past this, even by osmosis, I want to learn from that.”

Brock loves the idea of owning things that have existed in a previous life. “It’s had a life longer than me.”

As she stands in her bedroom, Brock points out that the positioning of her home—the top of a hill facing west—means this room gets pretty good sunsets. “It took me several years to notice it,” she says.

“It took me several years to notice a lot of things in this house.” The summer that Trohv was closing, “I must have watched 60—no kidding—sunsets that summer. I don’t know if it was the wonder of it, the silence of it. It was part of getting me through.”

Brock, who is working at the soon-to-open Church Bar in Old Goucher and just started offering “home consultations by Trohv,” is getting steady on her feet again.

“I feel like I’m in a better place,” she says. “I don’t know if I’m in a good place, but better—which I’ll take.”

Her house has helped get her to that better place. She says everyone assumed that, as the owner of a home goods store, she enjoyed her own house, “but I enjoy it now more than I ever have. And that is a surprise to me.”

One of the things that brings Brock the most joy is the artwork scattered throughout the house—on the walls, the stairwell, hidden in the bathrooms. All are deeply meaningful and connect her to a specific moment in time. There’s a piece by Katie Pumphrey, called “Fever Dream,” that hangs in Brock’s office. She bought it in 2017 when her dad died, and she was feeling adrift. There was something about the piece that “fit” her grieving.

“I love it and I love thinking about my dad. It doesn’t bring me sadness at this point, it brings me such joy to think about him.”

A charcoal and graphite piece by Lee Nowell Wilson, showing a woman trying to fold herself into a cardboard box, heaving at the sides, represents the loss of Trohv. And the giant 4-by-5-foot painting that hangs in her dining room instantly took Brock back to her childhood of chasing bumblebees around the farm. It was done by Jordan Kasey, a MICA grad who now lives in New York.

“This is from 2007—she graduated in 2008. This is one of my favorites.” The piece—the thing she would grab if her house caught fire—is of a young girl doing a handstand. Her cheeks pink, her mouth slightly agape. “It feels soft and approachable and tender and playful,” she says.

But Brock loves asking her guests their interpretation of each piece of art, too. “I dated this guy once and he came in and was like, ‘Carmen, your house is like a museum.’ And I think he meant it as a compliment, but I also feared there was maybe this non-cozy quality to that. And I hung my hat on that probably a little too long. I do think he meant it in a nice way. But I want people to come in and throw their shit around—I do.”

It’s taken 20 years, but for now Brock’s house finally feels like home—her home. Each time she departs, she steps onto the porch, doorknob in hand, and stops for a second.

“When I leave the house—this is literally what I say—‘Thank you. I love you. Please be safe when I’m gone. And thank you for your hospitality and love.’”

Trohv owner Carmen Brock and I both joke we gave birth the last week of October 2006. Carmen to an amazing shop on the Avenue, and me to my oldest son, Milo. Throughout every milestone—from the terrible twos to the angsty double digits to the Bar Mitzvah stage just this past year—we were both proud mamas.

So hearing that Trohv is closing next month feels like a death in the family. It makes my heart ache. I feel like I should be sitting shiva.

When Trohv—then called Red Tree—opened on the Avenue in 2006, it immediately became a favorite spot for holiday shopping, special gifts (the first thing my daughter, Willa, uttered when she heard about Trohv closing was, “But where will we get your Mother’s Day gifts now?”), items for the home, beautiful jewelry, and funny cards.

“When we first opened up people were trying to figure out what we were and what we were doing,” recalls Carmen. “People would come in asking for wigs, hair dryers, and sports bras—I loved that so much,” she laughs.

In my 14 years at Baltimore magazine, first as Style Editor and now as HOME and Weddings Editor, I have probably pulled 6,000 items to photograph for various shoots. Carmen always said yes. Even if I busted through the door breathless, gasping “trivet”—something vital I thought was missing from my latest styled shoot that was happening in five minutes—she would always say, “no problem” and have me quickly on my way. We’ve pulled tables and chairs and vases and books and jewelry and baskets. I remember at one point, the late Baltimore magazine executive editor Dick Basoco calling me into his office, “No. More. Trohv,” he admonished. That only lasted a few weeks before I was back there again.

Since I’ve known Carmen for so long, I was honored to be sent a Google document to sign up for shifts and help out the last few weeks the store is in business. The crowds have been huge (lines wrap around the block with only a few customers inside at a time) and if it could help Carmen and her associates, including Dawn Hudson and Bree Fischvogt, of course I would do it. My daughter and I spent a few hours there this past Sunday zhuzhing, rearranging, and, yes, shopping. Even with everyone coming and going and wanting to bask in the light that is Carmen, she made my daughter feel like she was number one. She gave her tasks, trusted her to answer the phone, and wrote everything Willa would need to know on a scrap of paper in her beautiful handwriting. That is the Carmen aura: freshly baked doughnuts, puppies, and a bouquet of peonies all wrapped into one.

I was also able to witness so many approaching Carmen—it’s so hard not to wrap her in a big hug—and telling her “this shop was my favorite.” Or “I bought my most beloved gift here.” Or “I came to a pop-up and it was amazing.” Ohh, the pop-ups. So many good ones.

“We did this ‘Beers and Spears’ event in 2012 where we featured Union Craft—they were really new—and Gordy’s Pickles,” Carmen remembers. “It was a really fun thing to do.” And then there were all the events with Damian Mosley from Blacksauce Kitchen. And truly one of the best gatherings involved Krystal Mack and the release of Cherry Bombe: The Cookbook. Krystal brought together local female chefs and they “all came to the shop and made amazing food,” Carmen recalls.

In my forever memory, a beautiful blanket Carmen gifted my daughter at her birth in 2009, is now my 9-year-old’s most beloved lovey. It’s probably in 17 million family photos and will always make me think of Trohv. (That and the smell of rose hips and anytime anyone mentions store windows—Trohv’s were the best.)

And on Facebook, so many stories of artists and makers repeat over and over that Carmen always welcomed them. “Trohv is one of my favorite shops anywhere and Carmen is the sweetest person on earth,” commented Elisa Shere. “They were the first ‘big’ store that approached me about wholesaling my jewelry after I quit my ad agency job.”

My friend Kate Beck posted, “It feels larger than the fact that Carmen was one of the first to make shelf space in her beautiful shop for my jam, and the enormity of her generosity towards me (and my little business) at that time. Larger than the faith they had in my quirky creativity when I borrowed items for photo shoots. And larger than the smiles, hugs, and high fives received time and time again when I went in there to chat about another nutty new business idea…”

I don’t want to give up valuable space in my Trohv eulogy to address the why. But I will say it didn’t have to be like this. Small businesses should have been given a lifeline. Now, this city, specifically Hampden, won’t be the same. It’s hard to believe all these empty storefronts are the only answer.

Trohv is the heart and soul of this community—sponsoring Stoop Stories, Pile of Craft, Skatepark of Baltimore, among a million other things. Hosting crafters and dreamers. Always saying yes. The ripple effect of this closure will be felt by many.

Asking Carmen what her next move will be is like asking a newly engaged bride when the wedding day is…we have to give it some time. I have my own fantasies that involve a Champagne bar and a curated selection of items. Or pairing up with a local chef for a restaurant and mercantile combo, like Jacoby’s in Austin. I just know Carmen won’t be sidelined for long.

“It has been the joy of my life to have a small business in Baltimore,” Carmen says. “For me, Trohv felt like a laboratory that sort of became a personal love story, and I will be forever grateful for the opportunity to have worked, hustled, lived, and loved the many creative people in this beautiful town. So many people have been involved: friends, families, community members, and artists, and they are all a really big part of raising Trohv.”

And even though there have been tears, there are also big belly laughs. “We have enormous pieces of furniture and often they come wrapped in big cardboard boxes,” Carmen says. “It became a tradition: I started hiding inside of them. So when a person on staff and sometimes a customer—it was always during open hours—came in, I would jump out of it or wait until they opened it and try to move it,” she says laughing.

The thing that is most genuine about Carmen, aside from her wanderlust and wanting the world to be a better place, is that she truly gets joy from other people. She’s fueled by their energy. It’s hard for her to take a compliment because she wants to put the attention on YOU.

But Carmen, please listen up. I hope you understand why you are so loved. I hope you know the huge imprint you leave behind. Thank you for Trohv.

Carmen Brock is the perfect combination of Southern charm and Baltimore grit, much like her home décor shop, Trohv. For the past 12 years, Brock has curated items reflective of both Hampden’s quirky character and her own personal warmth. Nestled on The Avenue, the shop is a staple in the community where friends always drag their out-of-town guests.

And she’s known for gravitating towards local artists. “I grew up in a family business that was incredibly resourceful and relied heavily on the community,” says Brock. Her parents saved their money to buy the tobacco and cattle farm in Kentucky where Brock grew up, a dream of theirs that taught their children the value of hard work. “I learned how to rely on other clever, resourceful, creative folk in the community,” she says. “I admired that structure.”

Leaving the farm for Georgetown College in Kentucky and then Emory University in Atlanta, Brock encountered a new type of community—one of artists and other creative types. The more Brock traveled, the more artists she met, instilling in her an intense love of handmade products of all kinds and a desire to one day open a store. “I had such a deep respect for these people who were making things and loving it so much and sustaining themselves off that,” she says. As her admiration and knowledge of the arts expanded, Brock landed here in Baltimore, not expecting to call it home for very long. She took a teaching job with the city schools while waiting to move on to the next thing, but she soon realized Baltimore was the ideal location for her to open Trohv, originally called Red Tree.

“Once we were settled here, Baltimore had its way with me. It sunk its claws in deep,” she says with a laugh. After quitting her teaching job, Brock took the risk, unsure at first how to hire a staff, how to keep up inventory, and if the shop would even survive.

It’s an understatement to say that Hampden benefited from Brock’s leap. Trohv’s unusual collection of small gifts, unique home décor, charming books, and one-of-a-kind art welcomes people to The Avenue, something Brock actively strives to accomplish. The store often features staff-made seasonal decorations, creative window displays, and small workshops with local artists.

“Even just getting a customer to come downstairs to me is a success. I don’t take that for granted. When someone walks in our door, it’s a gift,” Brock says with sincere Southern hospitality in her eyes.

Perhaps it’s the engrained importance of hospitality that made Brock decide to build her shop around home décor. To Brock, choosing locally made home goods is about more than just involving the community—it’s about giving customers access to pieces that reflect both them and the Baltimore spirit. “When I walk into someone’s home, I want to be able to know something about that person based on what they choose to live with every day, and that’s what I’m trying to create here.”

Everything Brock is trying to achieve with the store is reflected in her elaborate holiday window displays: They’re engaging for artists and customers alike, educational for the staff, and just a fun part of the job. “It’s been the joy of my life to work with local artists, and I’ve learned so much from them,” Brock says. “I think I’ll be a student forever, and I’ll always be learning about my environment and how to make things mutually beneficial.”