And nearly every person says, "I could live here!"
Easy for you to say.
What will you do without closets? Those big bulky coats and dozens of shoes won't fit under the sofa or the rocker. You can't hang them on the fireplace and snow will surely ruin them on the screened porch. Put them in bins? And where do you stack the bins? At the foot of the bed so you can trip over them every night? On the kitchen counter so you can move them 3 times a day in order to cook?
What do you do when company comes? Let them all pile on the bed, sit on the coffee table, stand at the doorway and play games on the floor?
Where do you possibly have room for luxuries like stew pots, griddles, blenders, pressure cookers and food processors? Where do you put spices, utensils, Tupperware and extra plates? How do you even begin to cook a big meal with a four foot counter space and no kitchen table?
How do you survive with only a shower? Won't you miss a long, hot bubble bath? Soaking your sore muscles from hauling firewood? Wouldn't you go crazy without the opportunity now and then to let Calgon take you away?
Where do you put all your cool stuff? Like the retro bar cart, martini glasses, giant art pieces, photographs, guitars, collections, seasonal decor and keepsakes?
Where do you store your bills and financial papers? Your favorite books? Your dogs toys? Those extra blankets, pillows, comforters and rugs?
Do you just do without extras? Do you adapt to the smallness of life? Do you sacrifice the things you love having around you for acres of woods and a log fortress?
Would you really love to live there, or just think you would?
The trickling spring is usually is home for bugs, snakes, salamanders and critters. Those sweet white chickens turn dirty and stinky. The flower boxes fill up with snow in the winter. The yard turns muddy. The forest turns gray. The little cabin fills up with fever so intense you think you might just break. You reek of firewood and cooked bacon and Deepwoods Off. Your skin is tattooed with bug bites and thorn pricks. And if your husband plays Stairway to Heaven on his guitar one more time, you might get out the shovel and start digging a six foot hole.
Yes, those little pristine places are so cute. Quite beautiful, in fact.
But you really don't want to live there.
Trust me, I know.