When I was back in Horton around Christmastime, I was strangely drawn to our old family friends’ house. They moved away long before we did, and like my parents, kept their house. Also like our family, they had three daughters around our ages. But unlike us, the parents separated and went on to live their own lives. The father kept the house, and apparently he comes back every so often for a few nights, according to my sister.
I walked through the fence marked “Private Property,” and made my way through the tall grass to the front of the cedar shingled cabin, which faces the creek. The details of the cabin didn’t make me recall any specific memories, but the general feeling was familiar. Whenever I see that book Woodstock Handmade Houses, it always reminds me of the rustic cabins that my parents’ friends lived in when I was young. This cabin has that same feeling as the ones in that book: cozy, natural, and kind of funky.
Once up the steps, I peeked in the windows and fell in love with the space. My mind started racing with all the things I would do to it if it were mine. Not that it really needs much added to what already exists, but it definitely needs an addition of a kitchen and bathroom. And I already have that worked out in my head. Needless to say, ideas have continued to swirl in my mind, and I can’t quite shake the idea of living in this place. I keep imagining summer days with the big doors in the loft opened up to the outside, letting the breeze in. And the garden I would plant. And cold nights curled up in front of the wood stove with warm drinks.
All photos were taken with my iPhone.