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1 September 2012 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

I took a break last night and sat on the deck for a few moments and absorbed the world.

One project or another sees me working late every night. Stopping to mull over the next step, swallowing a mouthful of beer, or absent mindedly scratching a hopeful dog's ear are about the only forms of respite that exist now.

So to sit blissfully with no humming generator, screaming power tools, or music felt like heaven. Strange that I was about to refer to that as silence.  

But it is not silence, as much as an absence of human noise.

...[Read More]

Mountain Light

29 August 2012 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

I came around the corner at the bridge tonight on my way home, tired and spent, but I slowed down and finally stopped on the road.

I have seen the mountains on the north and east side of the valley around Donald countless times, so it is hard to believe they can still stop me in my tracks.

But stop me they did.

...[Read More]


29 August 2012 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

Not so long ago I was pottering away in the cabin, working on the stairs probably. There are so many projects on the go now, I cannot remember the specifics.

As is customary, Breagha started to growl and bark outside, at what I initially assumed was nothing.

With River joining in the dialogue, I growled in irritation myself, and marched out onto the deck to reprimand them both for being so bloody raucous.

...[Read More]

Narrow Road

29 August 2012 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

"Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it."

Mathew 7: 13-14

I am not averse to taking inspiration from whatever source presents itself.

Though not raised with any codified religion, I definitely was raised not to belittle, or diminish other people's beliefs.

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29 August 2012 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

It feels like years ago that I first contemplated sanding.

I almost remember, it was right around the time I was incorporating collar ties into the roof. Being the first lumber that would actually be visible later, I spent some time with a planer, and belt sander.

I was intrigued at how the wood responded to this process. Sanding away the weathering and grime accumulated with age to expose the beautiful virgin material below. The wish that we could turn the sander on ourselves; liberating our souls from the traffic that they had seen, replacing our tired, jaded hearts with a fresh innocence and optimism.

Getting ready to stain the first half of the staircase, I am back at it in earnest.

But none of the usual romanticism accompanies this go-around.

...[Read More]