Though we just came back from California, it's already time to leave again. This time, we'll be vacating our little cottage for about six weeks as Vermont Natural Homes installs an earthen floor. Despite what we had originally hoped, we will not be going on any far-flung vacations while the layers of wet clay-y sand take their sweet time drying. Instead, we'll be house-sitting for our neighbors or camping.
Last night, Tyler and I prepared by clearing out the house—moving our beloved table, stereo cabinets, rolling storage carts, and everything in between. When we were through, our countertops, window seats, and entire loft bedroom were filled with newly homeless items. Nothing remained on the floor.
Then, we ran around frantically, trying to pack for our six-week exodus. Groceries were crammed into the fridge of our as-yet unsold camper. Clothes (still in a suitcase, yet unpacked from California), camping gear, wallets, toiletries, computers, shoes, and camera equipment were dispersed throughout our vehicles and sheds. Once more, we found ourselves in the midst of complete upheaval after finally getting settled.
I'm trying to keep a good attitude about this. I'm trying to recognize that this is the final push—soon we will have a lovely floor. The truth is, though, it feels like a huge leap in the wrong direction. It's kind of crushing to know we will be living in chaos yet again, constantly wondering if all we've worked to create will be destroyed by rain, perpetually searching for things because nothing has a place, including us.
Goodbye, little house. We'll miss you.