I have imagined the house and yard that I want for a very long time. When I was 12, my best friend loved fashion and wedding magazines, and she would spend hours poring over the pictures to plan her dream wedding. I preferred to read books about architecture and landscaping, watching This Old House and The Victory Garden on PBS with my parents on the weekends (back in the days of single TV homes and no internet or cable, unimaginable to many people now). I learned about woodworking and gardening, how to transplant trees and replace old plumbing, and that plants and animals require different care as the seasons change. I grew up in a rural area, where we were far more connected to nature. We had the beach right down the street, where people fished, shrimped, put out crab traps. Our grandfather went hunting every year, bringing home venison that lasted for months. Most of the other kids participated in 4H, the local agricultural club, by raising a pig, lamb, or rabbits for show awards at the rodeo and eventual slaughter and meals for the family. The life cycle from which so many urban dwellers are severed was actively playing out all around us, and it felt vital and necessary.
But I didn’t just want a slice of nature like the rural community around me, I wanted it to be beautiful. I wanted the open, brightly lit rooms that I saw in Martha Stewart Living magazines to be in my future house. I wanted the neatly landscaped gardens that were toured on The Victory Garden, the gracefully aging hosts traveling the world for the love of plants. I spent a lot of time thinking about it, when I wasn’t imagining myself living in Hobbiton.
I may have somewhat lost sight of that early passion as I grew into adulthood, because I got caught in the business of being adult. But those old memories came back to me yesterday, when I asked myself one question: “What are my values?”