Milieu is a series that explores the unique ways in which we breathe life into our homes.  From coastal towns to city living, our homes are a celebration of small, simple moments. They’re a reflection of our lives. Our stories. Our milieu. 

Join us as we venture to the Italian countryside to visit Marija, founder of Marilu&Co. Marija lives with her husband Luca and son in a beautiful home near the lake. Dedicated to building a life in connection with nature, we are always inspired by her eye for detail, her care for the land around her, and her passion for farm-to-table cooking. 

From the story of how she and her husband found this particular homestead, to transitioning from city life to rural living, we are completely captivated by Marija's words, ethos, and aesthetic. And we know you will be too! 

Shall we?

Before we begin, please, introduce yourself! 

Hi, I’m Marija — a mom, a wife, a storyteller, photographer, and stylist. At heart, I’m a restless dreamer, drawn to building a life that feels both beautiful and deeply lived. 

I was born in Montenegro, a small country on the Balkan coast, into a family of three girls, where creativity and curiosity were gently encouraged. My parents believed in the power of learning languages and seeing the world, so we began studying abroad young. At 17, I left for the United States as an exchange student, landing in a small town in Ohio. It was a world away from anything I knew, and it shaped me profoundly—teaching me openness, resilience, and how to find beauty in the unfamiliar. 

From there, life led me to Vienna, where I studied International Business, and eventually to Rome, a place that was meant to be temporary, but became home. Italy gave me love, a slower rhythm, and a life I hadn’t quite dared to imagine. 

Professionally, I worked as marketing manager for an e-commerce company, working across digital platforms, events, and brand storytelling. But alongside that path, I was always creating—styling tables, photographing food, filling notebooks with ideas. Over time, what started quietly in the background became something more intentional. Not a separate path, but a return to what always felt most like me.

Has Italy always been home for you? 

Italy was never part of the plan. I came to Rome for what was meant to be a six-month exchange, and somehow it turned into twelve years—and counting. 

I met someone along the way and chose to stay. That someone is now my husband, Luca. 

It was one of those quiet leap moments—when you don’t have all the answers, but you feel that something meaningful is waiting on the other side of the unknown. Looking back, that’s also where the roots of Marilu&Co. began. 

How did you come to live in this particular part of the countryside? 

I didn’t grow up in the countryside. I was a city girl, more familiar with movement and noise than silence and countryside life. 

In 2019, my husband and I stepped away from our corporate lives in Rome, choosing a slower, more intentional way of living. What began as a temporary move out of the city slowly revealed something deeper. We found ourselves longing for space, for nature, for a different rhythm to our days. We dreamed of land, of growing our own food and flowers, of building a home where our future children could run freely. 

Then one day, my husband found a listing. To me, it felt like too much of everything—too far, too wild, and far beyond what I thought we could manage. But we went to see it anyway, mostly to cross it off the list. Or that’s what I thought. 😊 

The property was untamed—olive trees, hazelnuts, woods, and signs of wild animals everywhere. It felt overwhelming at first. 

But then I stepped out of the car. The house stood quietly, wrapped in overgrowth. Simple, a little forgotten, but full of something I couldn’t quite explain. And just beyond it, the lake. Still and endless, framed by soft hills and olive trees. 

My husband looked at the view and said, “This is the one,” before we had even stepped inside. 

Inside, the house needed work. But it was filled with light, the kind you can’t create or renovate. The veranda was glowing even in the middle of winter, and somehow, the space already felt warm. 

In that moment, something shifted. 

Today, we call this hazelnut farm home—and it’s hard to imagine our life any other way.

Can you tell us a bit about the process of restoring and renovating your home? 

If you think you’re ready to move to the countryside, you’re probably not. It takes a certain mix of optimism and a bit of delusion to believe everything will somehow work out. 😊

Renovating this home has been exactly that: unpredictable, humbling, and deeply formative. I often joke that I felt a bit like Diane Keaton in Baby Boom, trying to figure everything out as we went, in a life that was moving faster and messier than expected. We arrived thinking we would take it step by step, maybe outsource a few things. But reality quickly shifted that plan. Budgets disappeared, unexpected issues surfaced, and we found ourselves saying “we’ll figure it out” more times than I can count.

So we did. We learned by doing—trying, failing, and trying again.

The first year was mostly about the land. We fenced the property to keep wild boars at bay, cleared what we could, and began working with nature rather than against it. We started a no-dig vegetable garden, built compost piles, and slowly brought the outside back to life—just as we welcomed our baby boy.

The second year softened. The garden grew, and so did our connection to this place. I built my flower garden and cried when my dahlias actually bloomed in late August. They were so beautiful! 

Inside, the house had good bones, but needed care. Now, almost four years in, I feel like I finally understand it—how we move through it, how the light shifts throughout the day, how each space wants to be lived in.

We’ve made a few essential upgrades: new heating, proper floors, and small touches of colour on the walls. But more than anything, the process has been about filling the house slowly, with pieces we love, understanding the space and its use before everything.

It’s very much ongoing with open projects and imperfections.

But one thing countryside life taught me is not to rush what I once wished for—to find beauty in the process, and to let a home reveal itself over time.

What does a typical day look like for you in the spring? 

Spring gently pulls us back outside. The days unfold between the house and the garden: pulling weeds, sowing seeds for the summer ahead, and slowly moving everyday life back outdoors. Meals stretch a little longer, and whenever we can, we sit outside, even if it’s just for a simple lunch in between tasks.

My days don’t follow a strict routine. They begin with a small voice calling from the other room. As my son wakes up, I prepare breakfast. Having this morning ritual together, with some pancakes or toast, is very important to me as the morning slowly unfolds. It’s simple, but it creates a quiet moment of togetherness before the day begins and my son heads off to pre-school.

Once the house settles, I move into my work. Each day looks a little different—some are spent writing or working on editorials, others styling a table or photographing a recipe. Most of it happens around the table. It has quietly become the centre of everything—where ideas take shape, where work unfolds, and where conversations begin.

Even there, the garden finds its way in. A few stems in a jar, a branch of something blooming, soft colours echoing what’s happening outside. It brings a quiet sense of continuity between the spaces.

In the afternoons, we return outside. I spend time in the flower garden, even if only briefly, while my son plays nearby, fully immersed in the dirt with his little wheelbarrow. There is something grounding in those moments—working with your hands, watching things grow slowly, without rushing them.

What is one of your favourite things about spring in the Italian countryside? 

How suddenly, it transforms everything. One day, it feels like winter is still holding on, and the next, there are blooms everywhere you turn. 

Winter here can feel cold and damp, and then February arrives with the first daffodils and bright yellow mimosa blooms—like small bursts of sunshine. It’s always the moment I pause, knowing spring has arrived. Soon after, the cherry blossoms follow, the birds return, and the grass begins to grow faster than we can keep up with. 

Everything feels alive again, all at once—and it’s impossible not to feel part of it.

We would love to learn more about your garden! Have you always dreamed of having your own flower garden? 

We often say my husband has a vegetable garden, and I have a flower garden. His is structured and precise, everything carefully in place. Mine is softer, more intuitive—a little wild, guided more by feeling than by rules.

Although I do have one rule. My garden lives in shades of purple and pink, with whites and soft apricot tones as accents. It’s a palette I return to again and again—it brings a sense of calm, even when everything else feels a little unruly.

I’ve always loved flowers, and having a cut flower garden was something I carried with me for a long time. I love dahlias, but I could rarely find them as cut flowers for my bouquets, so I decided to grow them myself.

Now, a few years in, the garden is slowly becoming what I once dreamed of. It’s full, but never finished. I keep adding to it—English roses, dahlias, snowball viburnum, cosmos, and each year, a few new varieties.

We also inherited some beautiful elements. There’s a wisteria on the front porch I always dreamed of having, and lilacs that bloom each spring so beautifully. When they come into season, it feels like the garden is quietly reminding me why we chose this place.

If you had to choose one flower that embodied May, what would it be? 

If I had to choose one flower that embodies May, it would be wisteria.

Its bloom is fleeting — something you wait for and almost have to catch as it arrives. Each year, I find myself watching for that moment, knowing how quickly it passes. Thankfully, it grows over my front porch, and for a short time, the whole entrance is softened by its cascading blooms and delicate scent.

There’s something quietly magical about it — the way it appears almost all at once, then fades just as gently, marking the season in a way that feels both familiar and fleeting, and making even the simplest moments feel suspended in time.

We are always inspired by seeing your recipes move from the garden to the table. Do you do most of the cooking based on what’s in the garden? 

Yes, very much so. There’s something deeply satisfying about stepping out into the garden, picking what’s ready, and letting that guide what you cook. It makes everything feel more intuitive and connected.

In the summer months, we are almost self-sufficient when it comes to vegetables. We grow what thrives here, and meals naturally follow the rhythm of the garden.

The garden also shapes how I set the table. I bring in whatever is blooming and let that guide the atmosphere. It’s never overly styled, just a reflection of what’s happening outside, carried indoors.

In winter, things slow down, but the garden still offers lots of greens like kale, spinach, salads, and cabbage, and we preserve what we can—jams made from fruit from our orchard, potatoes and onions, as small reminders of the warmer months. 

What is a recipe that you turn to every spring? 

A simple vegetable tart that changes with the season. In early spring, it might be filled with tender greens, fresh herbs, and ricotta from our neighbours’ farm. As the season moves forward, it shifts into something brighter - asparagus, young zucchini, whatever the garden is beginning to offer.

We often keep lunches simple, with a few seasonal salads and something warm from the oven. Savoury tarts are my favourite in that sense—flexible, comforting, and always a beautiful way to embrace what’s in season.

And then, of course, there are the sweeter moments. When strawberries arrive, I love to make a strawberry mascarpone cake. It always feels like a small celebration of spring. As the days grow warmer, a lemon tart naturally finds its place on the table, light and refreshing, perfect for a sunny afternoon.

What is something that people might be surprised to see in your house? 

I have a deep love for antiques—it’s probably the only kind of “sport” I’m truly good at. I collect what I’m drawn to: copper, vintage plates, old linens, and somehow, they come together naturally. 

The house feels layered, a little nostalgic, maybe even “old” to some. I see it as a lived-in kind of beauty.

What surprises people most, though, is the contrast. They don’t expect the view. When they first arrive, there’s often a moment of hesitation, wondering why we chose such a remote place. And then they see the lake, and everything shifts. 

Where in your home do you feel most creative? 

The kitchen, when I’m cooking. The living room and the garden, when I’m photographing.

I’m always drawn to light—how it moves through the house. When it’s just right, everything feels aligned.

Who or what are your biggest design inspirations? 

I’m always collecting inspiration. I grew up using Pinterest, so creating mood boards comes very naturally to me.

But over time, I’ve found myself returning to the past—vintage interiors, old design books, traditional ways of living. There’s a quiet depth there that continues to shape how I see and create today.

If you'd like to see more of Marija's gorgeous garden, recipes, and home in the Italian countryside, we'd highly recommend you find her on Instagram or through the Marilu&Co. website. The seasonal recipes she shares are always fantastic.