The lodge

I love my lodge. I do, at least when the sun shines and the birds flock to the feeders that I put out for them, and the sky is a promising blue, or when the fire is lit and the living room is cosy. When it is cold, I certainly know about it.

I have cried before. That was the night before my electric blanket arrived; the temperature was -3 degrees. I dread the cold, which has my hands and feet turning interesting hues of blue, white and red. My blood circulation, which has never been good, has been declining over the last few years and I end up with crippling pain and the threat of chillblains.

I have a choice, I know I do: to stay in a wooden lodge, no more than a few planks of wood from the elements, or I could move into a real house and be sheltered and warm. Choices are never so easy, nor as black and white as they seem. If I moved from the lodge, would I miss the closeness to nature? It is unique, isolated and peaceful. We have pheasants walking up to the windows and an acre and a half of garden to enjoy. 

Soon it will be summer, and the winter will seem far away. I am looking forward to bbqs on the veranda, and long strolls in the countryside. After the summer, maybe even after autumn, I probably won't be living in the lodge...I can't go through another winter like this one. I am done with cold places. But the idea of leaving makes me sad.

The problem is, I can't see myself living in a "normal" house again either. It is strange; as the lodge has transformed into a home, I have transformed along with it. The lodge is me, an external part of me. It is how I have always wanted to live: a wooden home with the bare essentials. If I could have a choice, I would build my own wooden house with insulation and eco-friendly heating (always heating, heating is never over rated), so that I can mix the world I love with a world of the essential warmth that I need.

Here's dreaming of finding a way...