Friday Fun: More Tiny Escapes

If you don’t have a garden or a big enough one for a shed, then these little chalets, huts, houses might tempt you – most of them are open to paying overnight guests.

Isn’t this a fairytale little forest hut? I might even look after the flowers for a week or two. From Onekindesign.com
A frame huts are the world’s easiest design, yet look stunning, from Riverwoodchalet.blogspot.com
If you hanker more after the beach rather than the forest, this Caribbean beach hut might be just the thing for you. Le Pirate Beach Club.
Sadly, the appeal of the British shepherd’s hut has been tainted by David Cameron’s association with it, but you can see why I originally loved the idea of it. From Fabulous Fleece Company.
Especially when you see how luxurious some of them are on the inside. From Stylist Magazine.
I can only imagine what my great-grandfather or my great-uncle would have made of such luxuries, from cottagesinsswaledale.com
The ones they lived in during the summer, when they took the sheep up the mountains, were more like this.

Homecoming? You’re Not From Around Here…

From Wikipedia, shepherd in Fagaras mountains, Romania, attribution unsure.
From Wikipedia, shepherd in Fagaras mountains, Romania, attribution unsure.

I hope I’ll be welcoming when you sweep in after your long journey

But

you’d trail mud across the cream tiles

you’d waft in earthy sweat

loam encrusted in your gnarled fingers

you’d print my white door frame

your voice would boom and scare my children

with toothless joviality as you snatch

their kisses fierce and wet.

 

I don’t pretend I chose my setting.

The colour scheme’s not mine

I added touches, too timid perhaps,

family pictures and drawings.

You’d break the symmetry of photos

you’d want to point at your descendants

and trace each trait to some Carpathian shepherd

with wrinkle-lined eyes from gazing too long at the sun.

 

You would not miss my recoil

even as you laugh it off.

I would not miss your sharp intake

of breath as bleach fills up your nostrils

You laugh at how antiseptic, how shrivelled I’ve become,

how I pay someone else to muddle up

my colour-coordinated mops and sponges

while I read books on sofas.

 

I hoped I’d be welcoming.

But I fear it turns out

deracination is not just for plants.

 

Overwhelmed with house guests this week, so just a quick poem here (not about the current guests, but about my great-grandfather, the Carpathian shepherd).