Last week I wrote about some of the weirdness of moving back into my childhood home for a month. It’s a little different than it was when I was an isolated only child growing up here, though: my childhood home is now a commune and functioning eco-retreat type thing called Sacred Groves. At any given time, there are a mix of a half dozen to a dozen adults and children living here, walking the paths I used to haunt alone. Sometimes it’s awesome, and sometimes it’s, well, a little overwhelming.
As I mentioned last week, I’m spending much of this month in the rustic log cabin that my parents built in the mid-’70s. I lived in this house from ages 2-18, moving out 18 years ago — which means I spent roughly half my life living in this rustic log cabin my parents built on Bainbridge Island.
Needless to say, it’s really weird being back.
It was 1975 and my parents’ “back to the land” impulses were in full swing. Although they had an infant (me) and were a geography professor and a nursing student (him, her) with no experience in construction or building (any of us), they decided to build a log cabin on Bainbridge Island, WA. My father, ever the researcher, read a bunch of books about the subject, and March of 1976 they broke ground on the 1000 square foot cabin I grew up in.
In 2011, I temporarily moved back in.
My mom recently moved back into the log cabin she and my dad built in the ’70s, after over a decade of renting it. But she wasn’t really using the upstairs at all, and so this summer she said that my 12-year-old son Tavi and I could take over a couple rooms. Here’s how I’m using cute photo gifts all over the cabin help my son feel at home…