The Enchanted Cottage

The Enchanted Cottage, as my predecessor Howard called it, is a hundred-year-old 600 square-foot redwood house in the middle of a 5,000 square-foot lot rimmed by huge old cypress trees. Ravens live in the trees, which drop their round cones, needles and branches on the roof, sometimes with disastrous results. Howard never knew that the cottage had a name inspired by a minor 19th century composer, or that the cottage was intended for a musician or painter in what the town founder hoped would become an artist's colony.

With two adults and a cat living and working in the cottage, it is an ongoing battle to keep some kind of order. There isn't enough room for everything, especially with a grand piano in the living room. The refrigerator is outside, on the porch. There is one closet, about four feet wide. We have to move the furniture to get to the books and electric plugs. We can seat six at the table, but they can't get out until everybody else moves. The plumbing, installed in 1936, has frequent problems.

There is no garage. Instead, there is a ramshackle out-building which we call a studio because Howard, a painter, called it that. It is stuffed with everything which doesn't fit in the house, and Nicodemus practices and teaches cello out there in a clear patch with two chairs near the wood stove.

The house is a pain in the neck. Completely inconvenient, cold, inadequate, uncomfortable, with property taxes equal to a  good month's joint income. On the other hand, we can see the mountain and the ocean out the window. When the fog lifts, we can drag the telescope out and see the moons of Jupiter. We can practice as much as we like without disturbing the neighbors. We can make jam from the blackberries. We are visited by hawks, robins, phoebes, hummingbirds, squirrels, skunks, raccoons and neighborhood cats.

Yesterday, Nicodemus and I were walking around in the yard (because you can't walk around side by side in the house). "You know, we would never be able to leave this place," he said.