Second last move?

Here it is, October 9. Thanksgiving weekend. 

And it's the end of my summer here in The Crooked Wood.  

Fall colours are just starting to kiss the tips of the trees in The Crooked Wood

I've been slowly moving to my winter accommodations in Lunenburg. I moved the big stuff (my small chest freezer, my bicycle) on Friday with help from one of my cousins and with my folks' pickup truck.

I feel really sad about leaving this place. I wish I could stay, but I know that Wholehearted House and I are just not up for living through a winter together. Already, the cold nights are causing condensation problems. I know I don't want to do the work that I would need to do to stay here and be warm and dry through the winter, nor do I want to pay for the renovations that would be necessary to make this a year-round dwelling. It is a perfect summer retreat, but believe that trying to make it into something it is not designed for will be a waste of money and will probably cause long-term damage.

While I know that my winter accommodations will be comfortable and fun, I still feel really sad, which several kind friends have pointed out is a good thing – because it shows how much I love it here and how much I feel like I belong to this place.

So, I've been letting myself feel sad and soft and vulnerable and treasuring my last days here for 2016.

Sal and I have been spending lots of time cuddling during the cool nights and mornings

I've walked around The Crooked Wood many times over the past few days – partly in search of mushrooms, which have finally gotten enough rain to be able to bloom – and partly in simple appreciation, finding countless little beauty spots to take with me while I am away:

"Nature decorates so beautifully!" as a friend commented when I posted this photo to social media.

Pretty mushroom! Probably a Purple Cort, according to my mushroom-identifying friends.

Salinger loves to come with me on walks. He climbs way up in the trees.

I have to say goodbye to my garden, too. It's been a challenging year for gardening because of the lack of rain. But I haven't had a killing frost yet, so my tomatoes are still ripening on the vine and my potato tops are still lush and green. The little bit of rain we have had has helped a bit.

My hugelkultur mound in July

My hugelkultur mound in October

My raised bed in July

My raised bed in October

I am feeling very motivated to make sure that I can build a year-round dwelling here next year. I feel quite overwhelmed at the thought of designing a space and corralling enough money to make that happen. But the thought that I could move back here next spring and never move again (unless I choose to), is a very compelling thought. Yes, I will be very happy if this is my second-last move. Ever.

I have this beautiful mini garden of forest mosses and lichens that my friend Kristina made. My mom bought it for me at the Lahave Craft Co-op this summer. I feel like this garden is a way to keep The Crooked Wood with me through the winter. That feels like a great blessing – to have a reminder of what is here waiting for me.

Turning the corner

It was forecast to go down to 8 degrees Celsius last night. And judging from the temperature this morning, I believe it did.

But, I stayed comfortable despite my lack of a heat source. Last night, I gathered all of the blankets that I had taken off my bed about 6 weeks ago and spread them back on top. I closed all of the windows - except for Salinger's back door - and all of the skylights.

There was something very cozy about cuddling back under all of my blankets last night. And something even cozier about waking up this morning and staying in bed for a bit before getting up to make a hot cup of tea to drink in the brisk morning air. There is so much love and safety, as well as warmth, stored up in these blankets.

Left to right: "Nana's Ocean" (the quilt I completed for my grandmother in 2001), the quilt made for me by the mom of my best friend in grade 8, and "My Favourite Mistakes" (the first bed-sized quilt I ever completed, started in 1998 and completed in 2000). 

The forecast says it's going to go back to being 17 overnight for most of the next 10 days. So this was only a forerunner. But, along with the ever-shortening days, it's a warning that my time here for this summer is drawing to a close.

That's a melancholy feeling. My sweet, happy, quiet, mostly solitary, summer in the woods is almost over. In a month or so, I'll be moving back into my winter digs in town. 

I feel determined to build a winterized cabin here next summer so that next year I can stay. I'm not sure how I'm going to manage to do that. But then, I wasn't sure how I was going to manage to get my house moved or power and high speed internet hooked up this summer and it all came together, with the help of many friends and friendly professionals - so I'm sure I'll figure all of the necessary steps out somehow - and receive all of the help I will need!

Farewell for now, Wholehearted House

It's moving day here and I'm up early (but not too early, thankfully).

It's a chilly morning, about 7 degrees outside (and I'm sure inside as well). In a few days, it is forecast to go down to 3 overnight, and eventually, if this winter is anything like last winter, it will be -17. Brrrr! 

I know in my bones that I am making the right decision. I really don't want to be stoking the fire every two to four hours, 24 hours a day for the next six months. I just don't have it in me. 

Downgrade me from Eco-warrior to Eco-Peace Corps Officer, I guess. 

Although actually, that's not entirely fair. While this place is super-sustainable in warm weather (low water and electricity use), the windows are so non-air-tight, I'd be heating the outdoors all winter trying to stay warm - and that is not a very ecologically sound thing to do. And it would also be exhausting. 

The winter accommodation I've found is only about twice as big as my tiny home and it's properly insulated with much better windows. Yes, it wins the efficiency (and ease) contest by a mile. 

I'm going to miss this place. There is a very special energy here. Last night she gave me a farewell gift, this sunset:

And while I don't have the technology I would need to take a picture of the moon and stars last night and this morning, take my word for it that they are glorious!

I'll be back for visits! And although spring is six months away, it will return eventually!

Tiny Home Living: The first few days...

The first few days in Wholehearted House have been fully alive and wholehearted – and not exactly easy.

Transitions are often hard. Humans don't usually take kindly to change. And this change has been accompanied by more than a few tears.
And by rain.
Rain.
Rain.
More rain.
Followed by sleet mixed with snow.
Followed by rain.
And this morning, snow.

The wintry Tiny Home in April.

Four days of it, going on five. Heavy and miserable. The ground is sodden, the brook swollen.

If this were a novel, the weather could be a device to show my grief for my recently-ended relationship, or to show the washing away of my old life as I make a clean slate of it, and then the eventual freezing of my heart. But this is not a novel. This is real life. And although I feel grief and also feel parts of my old life washing away, the rain has just been rain: a cold, wet, windy, incessant, annoying pain in the ass. And my heart is not even the tiniest bit cold or frozen.

Despite the rain, I am here and Salinger is here and we are finding ourselves pretty well-suited, overall. Sure, Sal hid under the fridge with all the wires for the first day, but that's pretty typical cat behaviour. I've since closed that area off with cardboard and tape (which is pretty typical human behaviour).

I've shed a few tears and felt rather fragile. I have let myself have those feelings and they are passing off. 

And I've received countless kindnesses: hugs, visits and a cooked supper with cider and cookies from my various landmates. My massage therapist (also a good friend) called me up when I completely forgot about my massage on Sunday morning, rescheduled it for an hour later and let me cry on her shoulder when I got there. I've had many Facebook messages and countless offers of places to have hot showers. I live in a profoundly embracing, generous neighbourhood and feel surrounded by good and caring friends.

And, I have the fortune of being able to make my move slowly. Right now, it's pretty minimal in here. I have my bed, two comfy chairs and 6 folding chairs in the Tiny House. I have a few bits of food, my cutlery, some knives and a cutting board, some tea towels and a set of fire irons.

I have my old place until May 31 so I have lots of time to continue to use it as an office and as a place to recharge my laptop and phone and to weed out all of my things. One of my big typesetting projects got put to bed a couple of days ago, so I will have more time to invest in my move. I am looking forward to embracing this life more and more fully. And always with a whole heart.