It has been a long Vermont winter. Yet can you remember the date you last shoveled? Or the day you last bundled up to go to the corner store or to walk the dog? How quickly we forget.
We create quiet nooks, entertainment rooms, chef’s kitchens and bedrooms fit for kings and queens in our homes. At once den, investment, hideaway, retreat and grand accomplishment, essentially, a home is a structure to protect us from the elements.
It is interesting how much love and energy we pour into adornments, design and architecture, yet the very elements that keep us safely inside this perfectly-designed environment also make us long to be out in the open. It is raining or there is a blizzard, what shall we do? For a moment, the cozy nook looses its ability to enfold us because we would not go there by choice.
As the seasons change outside our homes, so does our perception of the seasons within. The corner that had provided a quiet reading space one year suddenly does not provide the same retreat anymore. Perhaps it is our routine that has changed, our preference for certain colors, our need for space. We may have discovered the warmth of entertaining guests upon a winter evening’s meal and now feel more in tune with the family room than with the reading nook.
Year after year, the seasons leave traces of their passage on our homes and draw our attention to small flaws or weaknesses, inevitable repairs and grand ideas for additions and upgrades. Meanwhile, as we view our living space with new eyes, we seek to mold it to our activities and personalities until one day, as when the sunlight enters our favorite room at the perfect angle to uplift the mood, sudden clarity within instruct a new desire for change.
The tiniest seed holds the possibility of the most magnificent tree. The tiniest glimpse of a new idea grabs a hold of the imagination and demands to grow. One morning, or evening, we sit in our favorite chair and suddenly know how this room should look, where we feel the most at home and that it is time to go there.