Moon at Dusk

Last year, our income (before taxes were taken out) was under 16 thousand, and subtracting general bills and the amounts we mail each month toward my undergraduate debt and John's graduate debt doesn't leave many extra coppers for building our dream house. That's okay. Our dream isn't so much a house as a location, anyway. We desire a place where our children can explore and learn about God's creation, the land, and what lives in and on it; a place where we can have a larger garden, dig a root cellar, raise animals, and take small steps toward sustainable living; most importantly, a place where family and friends circle around. There are no prison libraries nearby, and there are no regular library jobs open, but all that comes with this land trumps the higher pay these jobs would bring. Even if John does take a library job in the future, it will likely be only for a time in order for us to live debt-free. God, in his inexplicable plan, has given John a vocation in which he works with people he loves, a place among overlooked souls who enlarge his humanity and give to him as much he gives to them. I am grateful for this and proud of him.

Family from my side clusters here in this area, sibling shoots who took root and grew families of their own. My oldest brother Andrew is brilliant. His mind sees the finished form of things and the steps one must take to get there, and his confident hands wield the tools necessary to shape. I celebrate what he's already done for us and the knowledge he's shared. "Just for fun" is the reason he spent some free time at work sketching up a house plan and compiling rough cost estimates of building materials for our home. Lord be willing, and with His help in this venture, we should be able to build our house (a half basement, first floor, unfinished second floor) in the next year and a half. In the last year, Andy has listened to our brainstorms and ideas, which ranged from old pipe dreams of John's (living in an r.v. or yurt) to serious plans to build a pole barn and live off the grid for a few years. I researched all manner of composting toilets and NYS rules and regulations in preparation for pursuing one of these choices, and after weighing positives and negatives of all the above, it seems most wise for us to do the following.

HOUSE DREAMS TO ALTER WHENEVER A KNOT FORMS:

1. As soon as this infernal, beautiful snow stops falling, get rid of asbestos, pronto.

2. Lug and haul and heave and sweat. Disassemble and sort the gutted house into mounds of burnables and metal and stone. Burn. Take to dump. Salvage.

3. Assuming we accomplish 1 and 2 without killing ourselves, we proceed to the basement, where my cousin's husband and his backhoe take center stage. We clean out the half of the basement that isn't solid earth, brace the original stone walls with an ingenious plan, and then pour cement. (Andy's explained the ingenious plan and shown paper sketches, but there's no way I can possibly transform what he said into plain English. It's enough to know that it's ingenious, and it cuts the originally estimated cost in half.)

4. Jeff and his earth mover form slopes, we cover the basement with plywood, and then we tarp it for the winter.

5. We take out a loan, if we're able. We're still not sure which route to take and trust that God will direct us to the proper place. Neither John nor I want to take out a large loan, and we're content to live bare-as-bones for a number of years, taking out a small loan and repaying it before taking out another. The cool thing is that Andy's estimates total under $30, 000 for the whole shebang. This is taking into account the fact that we'd be sweating onto the wood and nails under the direction of Andy and his father-in-law, a carpenter with whom Andy used to work. We also wouldn't finish the upstairs for several years, working on it as finances allowed.

6. After we have a loan, whatever size, Andy, along with Mr. Smith, my brother Joel (who doesn't yet know he's volunteered), John, and whomever else lends their hands will raise our house's frame and roof next spring. Then, we move in.

7. We live in our glorified tent for the summer, putting money we would be paying toward rent toward building materials: electric & plumbing, wood stove, etc. (We could skip electric, etc., but we won't be able to get a certificate of occupancy without them, and though the road has very little traffic, we live right next to it, and there's only so long we can live in the house without someone noticing.)

8. Next fall, we officially move in by getting a certificate of occupancy. Yes, I knock on wood.

9. We pinch our pennies to add flesh to our home (i.e. kitchen cabinets, paint, floor coverings other than plywood, baseboard, etc.) little by little, for a lifetime, if need be.

I've never thought about room placement, wall colors, or decor for our Someday. I was, and am, perfectly content with the bounty God has provided and does provide. When I recently read this post, though, I smiled in kinship as I read the last two paragraphs. She's absolutely right, and I look forward to what's to come.

Now begins the dreaming.