“I felt a pang — a strange and inexplicable pang that I had never felt before.
It was homesickness.
Now, even more than I had earlier when I’d first glimpsed it, I longed to be transported into that quiet little landscape, to walk up the path, to take a key from my pocket and open the cottage door, to sit down by the fireplace, to wrap my arms around myself, and to stay there forever and ever.”

Alan Bradley, The Weed That Strings the Hangman’s Bag

Growing up, if you had told me I’d someday be living in Idaho with a sled dog team in a two story, five bedroom house on an acre of land where I’d be raising my own food, I’d have laughed out loud.

It would have seemed so foreign. So out of character for me.

This place would NOT have been my definition of a dream house back then. As a young girl I actually dreamed of living in one of those Victorian row houses in San Francisco, with a view of the Golden Gate bridge.

Now you couldn’t pay me to live there or in any other city. The only thing my house now and one of those has in common is lots of stairs and a bay window. 😄

These days I dream of living even further away from civilization. Like in a Victorian farmhouse in the woods on at least twenty acres, far away from my closest neighbors so the dogs can “awrooo” and the roosters can “cock-a-doodle doo” to their heart’s content.

Maybe with with a lake out front and a creek full of trout out back, and with deer and black bears and wild turkey playing in the pastures in between.

Where in autumn it rains on the roof of my wrap around, covered porch as I curl up in a cozy chair under a blanket and sip my coffee and listen to the sounds of nature and look out at the beauty that God himself has created just for me.

Ahhh…

Of course it’s only a dream. But it’s such a nice one!

I hope you’re having a lovely Sunday afternoon, wherever you call home. 🙂