Summer's End

Summer isn’t over, officially, for three more weeks, but there is no mistaking autumn’s approach. I’m writing this “off island,” from Portland Oregon, where I’ve been for the last 10 days.  Before I left Orcas, the mornings were getting cooler, and the trees were getting yellower. Will the apples and pears have all fallen on their own? Will the yellow jackets be drunk and raging? This inquiring mind will learn soon enough.

In Portland, the gardens are peaking, the air is thick, and our position to the sun seems to dial up the daylight wattage.  Now that I am an observer of nature and seasons, I now understand that the crows of late August are all molting, not diseased.  It’s not just 5 days in a row above 95º, it's that this trip South has been both too short and too long, and I'm reluctant to put a punctuation mark on my summer on Orcas Island.

Since the beginning of June, I've envisioned an artist residency and an intentional-living retirement community. I've thought about floating modular units affixed to the bedrock, and I spent four days researching underground dwellings after a vivid dream about building a new house underneath the existing one, in the side of a hill. I’ve been trying to get my head around what is desirable, sustainable, and/or possible.  Spoiler alert: after three months, I don’t have the answers.

As of now, the only decision I have made is to NOT follow the path of least resistance, would be to restore the 3400 sq foot house, from top to bottom, or room by room. I love old houses; I grew up in one built in 1771. But this would not be much of a historic restoration, it would be a game called "Chasin' Crazy," a constant whack-a-mole of fixing and replacing, not improving. What I keep coming back to is the idea to take the house down to the studs, rebuild it at about half its current size, re-purposing materials and retaining the spirit of a traditional Orcas Island cabin, minus the 66” doorways.

My plan, insofar as I know it, is to winter in the big house, with a new wood stove to heat the living room and bedroom, and possibly a mini-split to keep the kitchen warm.  I’ll move my office downstairs and shrink my footprint down to just a few rooms.  The cabin, which will be vacant by the end of October, would be an easier option, but I can’t drag Sarge up and down from the sleeping loft, and our contract to be mutual radiators for each other only expires upon death.  

This means that the cabin, which is all of maybe 400 square feet, with a cozy wood stove and the best views on the property, is potentially available for short or long stays, starting in November. Sound tempting?

Tomorrow morning, I will leave Portland in a car packed with sweaters and corduroys, knitting supplies, LED lightbulbs, and groceries from the new 99 Ranch that just opened up in my old neighborhood. I'm anticipating a beautiful transition into fall, followed quickly by the harsh reality of shorter, wetter, and much colder days that might even make me long for a Portland heat wave.

If you're enjoying Bucolia, please spread the word, and share with someone you know who might enjoy it. And if would like to support my writing and the grand project of restoring this property, consider a paid subscription! As of now, none of my writing will be paywalled, but that may change in the future.