Decisions, Decisions

I was waiting for the sheetrock to be installed to get a real feel for the rooms of the yurt. The loft over the kitchen space extends beyond the wall below to accommodate the upper cabinets there. I like the off-set look and will appreciate the extra space in the rather small loft. I plan to put my office up in the loft so any extra square footage will be put to good use.
The bathroom is going to be roomy, with the laundry in the space where I stand to take this photo.
The main builder is doing a beautiful job on the porches and decking connecting the two doors. Building needs to be independent of the actual yurt above the platform, so it has been wonderful to watch how he has managed to create a sturdy and artful space.
I chose galvanized panels for the roof on the porches and for the small sheds. It seems to suit the style don’t you think? I may wonder at the choice during heavy winter downpours–I imagine both in and out of the yurt will be quite loud at times!
My grandsons had front row seats to the pouring of concrete for a step off of the kitchen porch. It was an add-on after I realized that the foot traffic from the road up would end up right at this step.
I’ve made a habit of walking up to the yurt in the evening. It is peaceful to sit on the porch listening to and watching the world settle.

I realized, shortly after the actual yurt was raised, that the project had become that of building a house. Not as expansive as the other houses I’ve been involved with building or remodeling over the years, but with all of the same expenses and steps required. My contributions to the project have been rather meager in some ways: I provide the money and whatever clean-up I can get to before someone else does it, and try to be patient. Mostly I admire and imagine and try to envision where I might fit that very large and dear armoire or my dresser (currently I believe it will end up in the bathroom) or if my matching couches have a prayer of fitting in the living room space (not much of one I’m afraid). I find I have no idea what I actually packed of my household goods since I was not sure where I would end up when I did the packing. Perhaps I will be pleasantly surprised when I manage to retrieve the boxes and bins and furniture from the storage unit where I stuffed it last summer. Or I may find myself horrified by the volume of things I decided to keep.

Things. I realize I have too many of them. And yet I have far fewer than I did a year ago. We all have so many more things than we need…but then it rarely is about need is it? Having lived in one room within my daughter’s house for most of a year, I know how little it takes to exist. Who’s looking to “exist” though? The hope of this bold and somewhat reckless move to yet another mountain property in the Ben Lomond hills is to live a life worth living surrounded by people and things I love. So, goal in mind, I watch the property change from spring to summer and my mind wanders to dining alfresco, admiring the climbing roses.

2 Comments

  1. My dear sweet friend,
    I have so enjoyed reading of your adventures , and it’s been a very long time since our friendship has truly been intact, but not surprisingly, I have enjoyed your gift of writing! Between th as t gift and your beautiful and creative photography, I hope when your home is complete, you might think about putting together a book using both gifts. I dont mean right away, but God has blessed you with the capacity to entreat others into your imaginative way with words, and now perhaps you will have the peaceful inspiring time to think about such an adventure of another kind. I’m certain you’ve thought of this before! Your blog is in part, exactly that!
    Anyway I just am thrilled that you soon will be able to enjoy that which you have dreamed of, and I hope it brings you peace and a place to begin once again.
    I have missed your friendship but am so excited to hopefully one day, visit you on your mountain and just sit and take in the view.
    As always, I remain your Old friend
    Chris💖

    Christine A Sommer

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