I am sitting here in our kitchen-extension: two years ago, while I was heavily pregnant with our smallest,
(Oh, gosh, I love the cute squidgy face of a newborn)
we oversaw a new extension to our home (as you do- I’m sure if a survey was done on extensions, the majority would have a pregnant woman at the helm) which is a turn-of-the-century stone farm house (completed in 1904).
(The original plans we drew up for the architect)
Our kitchen was TINY, and to get to it you had to navigate around a few narrow corners, so “we” blasted out through a window to create a door
(Unfortunately I didn’t get any photos of when the builders were wandering around half-naked, so you will have to use your imagination)
and built on an extension made from log- as in a log cabin.
No need to say that there were many times when we double guessed- was it “right”/ should we have gone with concrete/ stayed with what we had?
(Kitchen just after it had been installed- it is still gorgeous, albeit usually untidy…)
But everyday when I walk into this room, which is flooded with light, warmth and a “wood-y” smell ( not mentioning an extraordinary energy)
I feel content and blessed that this was such a great idea.
But I have digressed from what I was about to say: here I am sitting in our kitchen, looking out over our dark back (flooded) yard, with the rain drumming on the roof; there is nothing more comforting that the rhythm of the raindrops, a warm glow from the kitchen, and a pot of tea beside me.
(Yes. I had a completely different post planned, but got side tracked… so I think I’ll leave it for another day…)
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