Where I Dream to Be in Daily Writing

Sometimes I truly wish I was in my favorite spot, a place that’s always brought me peace, though I wish I could be there with far fewer people than are there today. I love being at Walden Pond, sitting in the little recreation cabin, an approximation of the one Thoreau lived in while writing Walden. Something about that tiny cabin has always held my heart.

That has become my dream location, a tiny little cabin in the woods, far away from the stresses of daily life, where I can focus on the things I love. Perhaps I would need a larger cabin, or a workroom or storage place that could hold the extra fabric and things for projects I intend to complete. If I had a cabin in the woods I could build it any way I like, perhaps with stained glass windows so the light filters through in a splash of color.

In thourough honesty, I don’t want a house at Walden Pond, where the winters would be snowy, isolating, and cold. As much as I love watching the snow gently falling outside the window, coating the ground, the fallen leaves peaking through until the crests are buried by the depth, the cold pains me. My body aches with an intensity so strong that my movements suffer to the point of being struck homebound. The images past my window inspire the imagination, but the isolation limits my freedom and results in depression.

No, I want the land in Houston, even with the sand contaminated water, the lack of bathroom, and the broken down house that needs to be cleared from the path of some hurricane. The land overlooked a pond, a prime location for breeding mosquitoes. In that place, being eaten alive by fleas, stuck and alone, starving, that’s where I had my happiest moments. I looked out across that pond and could feel it rising up behind me, the little cabin in the woods, my own cabin at Walden pond.

Each day needed hard labor, pushing myself to clear out a tangle of what I only knew as “gotcha vine” from the owners and an ovegrowth of blackberries we arrived too late to enjoy. Those vines left gashes up my arms, but at the end of a hard day’s effort I looked at the land cleared and could only think what the early frontier homesteaders must have felt at seeing the land open up before them, making way for a new home and a new life. Day by day the layers of green peeled back to reveal soft, lush grass, lovely for laying in to look up through the trees at the moonlight and stars peering down when everything quieted at night.

The branches of a lilac bent over to provide seating perfect for reading a book and eating fresh strawberries from the garden, one bare foot propped up to hold my book against my knee, the other dangling below, teasing the grass just in reach. The summer breeze felt surprisingly refreshing, despite the oppressive warmth of it. Even with oppressive humidity, leaning my head back against the perfect spot, shaped just right to cradle my head at a slight angle as I do when I read, lounging in the shade felt like an escape, the first break I’d had from my troubles in a long while.

As I sat on that branch, looking across the little clearing at the old bathtub that sat just up the rise, where the kids loved to bathe in the sun, I imagined a life there. I saw the house rising up just past the washhouse, facing the pond, a little walk just through those woods over there to the left. The leak in the plumbing causing the contamination would need to be found, of course, but rain barrels could do some of the lifting on our bathwater. The little house looked out at the kids playing by the edge of the water, catching frogs in the early spring, only to let them go later. This place I could be happy in.

I imagined my mornings then, waking up on a lazy, summer day. Each morning I crawled out of my cozy bed onto the smooth floor, looking around a room that was perfectly mine, the east facing wall hosting a high stained glass window splashing colors across the wall facing my bed, cheery curtains pulled aside to let the early sunshine wake me, and the furniture, all practical, hand made by myself. None of it is fancy, simply plain carved with no special skills used, but it’s mine, painted in bright colors, as though each stepped out of an art museum, a practical wardrobe to keep my dresses, a dresser, and perhaps a small armoire for anything that needed to hang. I stepped out of bed each morning to a rag carpet that’s colorful and bright, made of recycled fabric from worn out clothing and bedlinens. I got dressed every morning, wearing something practical, like a work dress, but something lovely out of a cottagecore fairytail, slippers tucked under the bed for cool days, but on a warm day I step out barefoot onto the smooth wood floor.

Hot summer days necessitate opening up the hallway doors of the dogtrot house, letting the natural ventilation cool the whole home, then it’s off to the kitchen to make breakfast. I look forward to oat bread or yogurt with granola, something that can be ready to go, requiring nearly no work. Aside from the dining nook, settled into a corner of the room, the kitchen spreads out with a work table, a china cabinet, a small hutch, an old-fashioned wood stove, and a farmhouse sink, all framed around the door to the butler’s pantry where all the food and the refridgerator hide away. I settle into the dining nook in a way most would find stiff and proper, sitting up with ankles crossed beneath the table, a cup of tea casually held in one hand to sip from while a book lays open. Breakfast happens this way, book open with tea in hand as soon as eating is done. Eventually the dishes will be cleared away, but first the morning must be enjoyed, looking out over the little pond between the odd paragraph, enjoying the tea before it cools.

Once the day begins and the dishes washed, I check on my house pets, two cats that are happy for their breakfast in the morning, but otherwise take to lounging, and a dog, a big hound that enjoys trotting around the garden while I work. From there I visit the aviary, the home of a raven and a couple hunting birds, feeding them and enjoying some quality time with my feathered companions. Next I wander to the barn, giving the horses their morning feed and mucking out, the first serious work of the day. Each horse is let out to the pasture in back to run, roll, and generally enjoy their morning.

After the animals, I start the next of the morning chores, one of my favorites, tending to the garden. Neat rows of the standard fare of kitchen herbs open up to the vegetable patch, and while those require practical weeding and serve their purpose, my favorite lies beyond in the little clearing with the old bathtub replaced with a clawfoot tub as a centerpiece, the butterfly and humming bird garden. When all of the chores are done I sit here with my book, sometimes on the ground, sometimes seated on my favorite lilac branch, and focus on my writing. Some days the writing serves a purpose, but my favorite writings are musings about life on the homestead and living in a small cottage, my escape from the life that caused me so much pain and agony, to a place where I could live at peace. I write now, and document my life. This has become what I do, encapsalating the lives of people through different periods of history while hiding away in my own little Walden house.

As the day gets hot I collect some lettuce for a salad with my lunch, some homemade soup that needs only to be heated and some bread baked fresh yesterday. I settle into my nook for lunch, thinking ahead to the rest of the day, which needs to be spent cleaning, preparing for dinner, and getting ahead on the craft projects.

The first stop after lunch is the room down the hall to pick up my crafts. Hot days mean working in the cool of the hallway, but in pleasant weather I work on the porch the main doors open into with a glass of lemonade, usually mending, dress making, quilt piecing, or knitting. When storms blow in or cold weather means staying in, I settle down at the quilting frame or with the lace pillow and work away. At this point each of the kids have a quilt I’ve made for their beds and the next adventure is a lap quilt for each for sitting in the living room at night, watching a movie, playing games together, or simply curled up with everyone invested in a good book. Those are my favorite times, when we’re all together, enjoying some time doing something as a family again.

And where have the kids been all this time? Well, Link is likely grown before this place comes to be, and Creeper may have one foot out the door. Bear, however, stayed over at a friend’s house, since he’s made so many more thanks to homeschooling. We have a friend watch the animals a few times a year so we can go on adventures, the last one was Switzerland, which Bear had been requesting to visit. Creeper stayed with his dad for that one. He doesn’t like travel, so he gets quality time with family.

The land, being big enough, has made room for Link and Creeper to build their own cabins a little ways back in the woods. If you look out past the barn you can just see the first in the forest, painted green, so you know that belongs to Creeper. He’s decided to raise animals of his own some day, so he’s building his own pig hutch to keep them in. He thinks they would make a wonderful addition to the place as they can consume all the garden scraps.

With the approach of dinner, cooking becomes necessary. It took a while, but I learned how to cook all of my favorite meals on this ancient stove. We also expanded with a smokehouse, a bread oven, and a lovely outdoor cookfire space. My favorite things are still hearty soups and stews in the winter, with the occasional roast, but in the summer we eat a lot of vegetables, or maybe something fun like my favorite bean dip turned into burritos or along with tacos. Bread bakes while everything cooks, and then I make my feeding and visiting rounds again while waiting for the meal to cool.

In spite of my health issues, the slow pace of living always helps. If things get left off the list, often I can catch up the next day, so long as the animals are attended to and I still manage to keep myself fed. Fortunately, the slower pace means approaching each task mindfully, and being more aware of my own needs and limitations. I can pace myself and respect my own boundaries, and if the bread doesn’t get baked one day, there’s always the next. The key is to work ahead, and always be prepared for a trip to the store or to call in a friend or neighbor to assist when needed.

What of the boyfriend? In this vision, he’s likely off on contract somewhere. I get to talk to him every night before I go to sleep, and I know he’ll be back soon. If it weren’t for the animals we could travel, and sometimes we still go to live with him, since Link is able to stay and watch the epic beasts, as he calls them, and we can stop back in from time to time to check on them, but mostly I stay home while he goes to places I can’t follow, looking forward to the day he can come home and be with us long term, even though he loves the adventure.

This is my ideal place, my ideal day. Maybe it will never happen. Maybe I’ll just have the cats and the dog. I could be happy with that. Or maybe this is all a short distance away.