|Home in Every Sense of the
Glancing around this house, I see how each place I have been (and imagined) has influenced what I've created here. In fact, I know that even hay fields and a decrepit corncrib all have their voice here.
As I revel in the wonderful view and the air moving through this space, I must admit that Mom was right: I wouldn't have been happy turning the silo into a house after all.
No, this is the right house for me. It has been my teacher, my experiment, my consolation, my sanctuary, my inspiration. It is here that I have had the opportunity to spend hours moving one object from place to place just to experience how it feels when it finds its final resting spot. It is the beauty of the light in here that demands that I still my perpetual motion and take notice. And it is this space that I love so well, I'd almost always rather be here than anywhere else. I am a little concerned that that by forty I may lose the desire to ever leave, becoming a recluse. Luckily my favorite people like it here, too.
While I have invested much time and energy creating my home, it still has a long way to go. Inevitably, as I learn, my house will change and grow. Every day I reevaluate some aspect that I thought worked, and reconfigure it. Still, I know that what it is today is just right.
Visitors seem altered upon entering. They take deep breaths, become "present moment," and their faces register both excitement and peace. And when they leave, they seem invigorated to go home and spend the time it takes to clean out the drawers, to ask themselves if they really like that vase that Aunt Edna gave them, and to question why their bedroom doesn't call to them to take naps.
This is an inspiring space architecturally...so much so that I have had to abandon many a decorating idea simply because the space begged me to. Things that seemed like a good idea were incongruous with the personality of the house. I have followed a basic and powerful principal that I believe deeply: I only have things here that I love or know to be useful. The decrepit 1970s stove with the broken oven and burner was the large exception, but now it too is gone: after seven years it made its final journey out the door, end-over-end down the hill where it came to rest like so much lawn art until dump day.
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