An old story

October 2013

We have been dreaming up a perfect little life for years now. Drawing our plans in crayon. Our pictures included mountains, a house, gardens, the housetruck as a cafe, a river, little smiling stick figures with snowboards, a barn, a dog and friends. In the last 9 years this drawing has followed us from place to place- but overall the idea has stayed the same. Kristoffer and I would sit on the floor, crayons in hand- adding the things we wanted when we grew up. The stick figures went from two, to three, to four as our family expanded. Sometimes there was a modest tree house, sometimes the house was a tree-house.

There were many times when it felt like it was never going to happen. Like we were going to have to give in and conform and give up the idea of having freedom and a cheap house in a beautiful place and just stick with the unfulfilling job for the sake of security. Mostly though, we'd rally each other into believing that it could happen. That we could live in the housetruck for a bit longer, save a bit more cash, keep looking, and eventually have the life we wanted. We didn't know where-- having met in Vail, Colorado, me coming from the East Coast and Kristoffer having come from New Zealand-- not even a country could be pinned down. We moved around a lot, going from Colorado to New York to California to New York to New Zealand to New York to New Zealand to New York to Massachusetts, dreaming this dream and drawing pictures; harassing real estate agents, and driving our family and friends crazy with our constant blabble about houses and markets and ridiculous prices and impending doom-- and still believing that at sometime we'd actually be able to make our dream a reality.

This last year was a rough one. Not because we were a family of four living in a housetruck that measured 8'x24', but because it started to seem like we were wrong. That we were just dreamers chasing a dream that was never going to come true. We were never going to fix what was broken, we were never going to find that perfect situation-- the one that gave us the opportunity to feel valued and passionate and part of something bigger. Bummed, stuck, feeling lost and out of place-- while trying to maintain a basic level of love and life for our kids sake. Even talking about moving lost it's shine. The last thing we wanted was to move again. Even though New Zealand had a more secure feeling-- work, friends, independence, stability. IF we could sacrifice Kristoffer to the cause, well, the kids and I could have quite a cushy little life while he sat chained to his computer going grey and considering joining the gym. (Seriously, you know life is pretty awful when you're considering joining the gym. Nothing like running in place staring at a mirror watching things bounce around that shouldn't while breathing in the recirculated air of someone else's armpit.) At times it felt worth it, but inside it didn't seem right that he would have to spend the rest of his life clicking his mouse and staring at a screen while we played at the beach and went to cafes and drank tea with friends.

But anyway, what does this have to do with coffee? Everything and nothing at all.

This summer Kristoffer sat in his chair hour after hour clicking and staring away his days while the kids and I went to the lake and worked in the garden. His clicking bought sushi that he never ate, clothes he hasn't been able to fit in for at least 30years, strange techy things from new egg-- and finally it bought a coffee roaster off eBay. Clicking, sometimes a hundred times a minute, managed to buy something real, something tangible.

Coffee is an obsession. Finding great coffee in the US is near impossible. Our little Pavoni-steaming-death-trap has served us well, rescuing us from stale coffee all across the country. Still the beans we'd buy tasted older than they should. The machine struggled to satisfy our addiction, sometimes failing to warm milk and sometimes threatening to blast a hole through the wall.  (Similar to attached photo.)

This seemed to fall in line with our insanity. We had two espresso carts in storage, we'd just bought a coffee roaster, and we were living in a truck-fighting with a little Pavoni. BUT- Overall we were happy. Our kids were happy. We had beautiful homegrown food, enjoyed each others' company (most of the time), talked, laughed, bought copper pots and things we found beautiful and smiled cheeky smiles seeing the humor in the tragedy that surrounded us.

We started roasting beans in the truck, while living in a parking lot, growing organic food along the forgotten sides. It didn't make us money, it made us happy. Well, I think it made me crazy. But... I can't blame that on one single life event. AND- without my crazy we never would have rushed to Vermont (just after deciding that we were just going to rent in MA this winter) to look at an apartment advertized as “Two bedroom house, heat, utilities and wi-fi included, 20 minutes to Stratton”. I ignored the pictures- this was it. We had to get in the car and drive 2.5hrs to look at it, even though Kristoffer had 30 hours of work and 15hours to do it in. After getting there and seeing that it was a basement apartment, 40minutes to Stratton, I had to own up to being insane.

We drove to Stratton anyway. Seeing the mountain made us want to live near it. We looked for rentals on the tablet, but the prices were ridiculous. A little A-frame popped up 6miles from the mountain. On the way home pulled in and dreamed about making it ours- 4 acres, minutes to the mountain, room for the truck.

We were just talking about the cafe when a police man pulled in behind our car. “Oh great. Here we go.” I walked over to his car with Mikaela in my arms.

“I just stopped because the sign keeps going missing. Are you looking at the house for sale?”

“Yeah, it looks alright for the price.”

“How much is it?”

“$99,000.”

“I think there is another one just down the street with a little barn across the street from it in that range. Just past the firehouse.”

“Oh yeah? We'll take a look.”

He gave the kids stickers and carried on his way. Of course it would be a police officer that helped us to find our dream. The little house, on a little plot of land-- enough for a garden maybe even some chickens and the truck-- with a barn, a river, a tree big enough for a tree-house, just minutes from a nice mountain-- that we could afford! It was meant to be.

We checked it out and when a few days later the price dropped we immediately got in the car and drove up and put an offer in on it. Everything went at lightening speed, and now it is ours! We have enough security, space and permanence to grow the life we believe in.

Our crayon drawings are becoming real!