Over a year ago, a friend and her husband, bought a derelict cottage.  Honestly, I think that most people would not have had the ability to see and feel what this old place could once again become with some time and love being spent on it.  Most people would have been organising the bull-dozer before the ink was dry on the purchase deed, but my friends do have that ability to see deeper than surface, and two weeks ago I moved into that house.

It’s not finished.  But inside it’s finished enough, and outside is still being worked on.  There’s a new deck at the back, leading into the kitchen, but until today the front door was a no-go area because the steps to the door were not safe.  Today, there are new stairs. 

The kitchen is hand-made using mainly whatever wood was to hand.  That, I’m told is Blue Gum and it will handle just about anything I throw at it!  The house is old, it’s been through cyclones and flooding and pretty much the only square corner is in those kitchen benches.  The wooden floorboards talk to you as you walk across them and there is a definite slope between bedroom and bathroom.  And I love it. 

I love that a building that has seen so much can be brought back to life.  I love that the owner has not tried to bring it into the modern square-box world.  I love that almost everything except the electrics and the plumbing is made from re-purposed and found items.  My laundry tub is an ancient stone trough that I call “The Sarcophagus.”  The mirror on the bathroom wall is probably from the 1930’s.

Outside, there is still a whole heap of work to do.  There is a massive shed that looks ready to fall over at anytime, but is still sturdy enough to do duty as a storage place for lumber, tools, paint and all the minutia of renovation.  There are planks of wood propped up on the garden fence, scaffolding and ladders decorate the grassed areas, and in amongst this apparent devastation is an old giant mango tree and heaps of other fruit trees.  It’s a garden that many people would look at and just see the mess.  Me?  I see the potential, the life, the beauty.  I see I need to buy a jam pan.

This is my home.  My forever home.  There’s no rush to make the cottage picture-perfect.  I love that this house is like me – no longer young, creaky in the joints, plenty of saggy bits, but being renovated with love (that’s me as well as the house – I too am working on my renovation!!)

It’s taken me almost 70 years, but finally, I feel as if I am home.