About a month ago we started living full-time on a farm. It was pretty rundown when we first arrived. A house built in 1900 that had been badly treated for years and property that had been neglected just as long. But the moment I saw a tiny building across from the main house my heart skipped a beat. I didn’t want to walk up to the building just to open the door and find that it had been treated like the rest of the buildings, so my husband did it for me.
It was the only building that hadn’t been destroyed by dogs or rodents. A quick coat of white paint cleaned out the locked in stale smell and allowed my mind to go crazy with what to turn it into. It was going to be my office. My creative space. Someplace I could walk inside and close the door and just be or create or nap. But then I saw it. A schoolhouse was its purpose.
It still has a long way to go, window trim, art on the walls and comfy spots to sit. It needs a new screen door and a lock. But the kids are enjoying it and books, toys and tables have found a place to call home.