Sanctuary

 

After owning houses of all descriptions, small, large, modern, traditional, even an historic home from the mid 1800s, and a couple of estates, one with an orchard and no house and the other with a vineyard, a restaurant and homestead on many hectares of land, it is surprising to me that the one that offers us the most sanctuary is the most humble abode we’ve ever lived in. This one isn’t even ours. We rent here and have for over a decade now. But it has all the things we need. It is far away from civilization in the farming wop wops over an hour from the city of Christchurch. We have no neighbors that we can see from our tiny abode but they’re close enough so we’re not completely isolated. We were so peopled out when we arrived here and have definitely solved that problem. Our farm cottage is adequate for our basic needs now although there’s hardly a closet or enough storage for our possessions. But our expansive gardens outside that cushion this tiny structure from most of the infrequent road noise, more than makes up for the size of the house. Besides, we spend most of our time outside working on one thing or another to embellish our lives. Our son chides me for all the items that I do keep in the house that I prefer to have near me for fear of their destruction in the adjacent barn. I’ve seen what some of my prized collectibles have endured from being in the barn for years, and I’d rather avoid that. We didn’t own the house up the hill either and once we’d moved in and brought all this stuff with us, the landlord there was blown away by how nice the place looked with our furnishings inside and out. Having owned so many properties we tend to take care of these rentals in the same manner. John cuts the lawns and I decorate the houses. And often we renovate when needed and at the very least paint inside and out as needed, although we haven’t repainted here in several years. Both of our landlords were very grateful to have us maintaining the properties like this, but it’s the only way we know. Until age thirteen I lived in a huge townhome development in Los Angeles that imprinted the limitations of regulations on me to keep the palette of acceptable paint colors dull and predictable for consistency and continuity. As soon as I escaped that restrictive mentality, I began to use color to decorate my existence and add pets that I couldn’t have there and I’ve never stopped putting my own sense of style into my residences and my life. It was a hard blow to lose everything we owned and start over in 2008 and we’re nowhere near where we were, but this feels like our house and our garden and I like it like that. Our landlord here appreciates what we do just as we appreciate being chosen from many potential tenants to live here in paradise. I’ve moved so many times in New Zealand that I became adept at shifting our lives like gypsies, packing up our belongings and recreating our reality somewhere else. We broke that pattern here by staying this long. Someday, I think this will change and we will buy our own house with land again. But this place has sheltered us from many storms and we’re grateful to have something so special to call home. Apparently many bugs are experiencing the same comforts here inside the House of Cluck-Cluck, as all these cutesy knickknacks seem to attract lots of dust and then the bugs arrive. So I think I’ve reached the time to break out of this mindset and put some of these treasures somewhere else. For the spiders are getting so bold or are in such great numbers that I’m watching them walk across the rug right in front of me, the giant woman with the tissue in her hand ready to flick them outside where they belong.

“I did always want to be close to nature but not this close thanks.

Actually there’s more dirt outside, spiders. So go find it. See ya.”

It’s gotten dark since I wrote this. Time to warm up near the woodstove on this chilly evening and relax.