One thing on which my mother-in-law and I agreed, an area in which we uniquely understood one another, was in the value of living in a yurt. Or a tumbleweed tiny house. Or in the case of my current obscession, a little bamboo cottage by a lake.
My husband, techno king, thinks this is silliness. Especially since my little bambooo cottage would have solar power and a single soapstone stove for its main source of heat. And a little alcove for a kayak. But silly or not, he says he doesn't mind as long as he has a decent internet connection.
She liked funny little houses. I'm fond of simple living that doesn't overwhelm the natural vista, be it trees or water or mountains. We shared a fondness for misty mountains. Gentle architecture with a human touch. Her father was an architect, mine an engineer.
I would build it with transom windows to let the heat out in the summer, or if the soapstone stove became too much in the mild southern lakeside winters. And I would have a little room for the rabbits to hop and eat their hay, indoors away from predators but where they could scatter their hay and nobody would mind.
And a little sunroom for my spinning wheel.
And a little asian style table where you sit on the floor.
And interesting art on the walls.
And a lot of windows for looking out.
And a single (organic) fruit tree in the yard, a little herb garden, and a farm market down the road that I can walk to.
Where I would wade in the lake and maybe learn to paint. Except that I am terrible at art. Except that I can sort of paint silk scarves. And spin yarn. Except I get bored at spinning and painting after a while.
Except that I don't like fish. I spent the last few years learning to like salmon, and now I really do. So maybe for the new year I will learn to like another kind of fish, and I can tell myself that learning to like fish is one more step toward living by the lake in a sustainable little house with a sweeping vista.
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