Seven weeks; that’s how long it took from setting the first post to moving into my tiny cabin. 7 weeks of sawdust, sweat, bruises, laughter, a few arguments, and the kind of exhaustion that makes you doubt everything—including yourself.
Housing Has Never Been Neutral
For me, houses are never just walls. They’re tinderboxes of memory.
My childhood cabin burned. Then, in 1997, I spent months pouring myself into a lake house renovation with my crew. We finished just in time for Christmas. My husband our daughter Eden, and I, pregnant with Sid, were set to move in on Christmas Eve. That day, I got the call: the house was gone. Ashes.
People often say tragedy comes in threes. The possibility of another loss gnaws at my mind like a rat in a cage. But June 2nd marked a new beginning, a fresh start. When the papers were signed, I felt a rush of relief. We stepped onto over 13 acres of our land, let the dogs spill out of the car; the moment was surreal. Home again. Not just for me—I’m not the only one who’s lost houses. After my divorce, our family home went too. But today I want to share a gentle reminder, dreams do come true. It was like the land itself opened its arms, saying: You can root here, for now.
“The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” — Maya Angelo
Then yesterday—thunder and lightning cracked so loud it rattled the metal RV cover over my head, like the earth itself splitting. Minutes later, smoke rose. A property on nearby Wolf Creek was burning. Fire crews and PG&E trucks swarmed in. They got it contained quickly. Two acres had burned. No one was injured, and no homes were destroyed. Relief again but always shadowed by that inevitability. I have the utmost respect and gratitude for the first responders who contained the potential devastation of this fire.
Out of Square, Out of Patience
A week after closing, I brought in an old friend to help set the foundation. He had more experience than me, so I slipped back into “helper” mode. But the deck—the foundation of my home and the makings of my floor—wound up being 4,5″ out of square.
It doesn’t sound like much, but if you’ve ever built, you know it’s the curse that keeps on cursing, lol. He left, and I was stuck with it. Untangling that mistake through every stage became its own lesson. Sometimes you inherit other people’s angles, but you still have to build something that stands the test of time.
The Build: Family Strength
This wasn’t just me. Ary and Sid were beside me. We rotated strength. On the days I crumbled, they carried the load. On the days they collapsed, I picked it up and vice versa.
Back in ’99, a skill saw slipped—tore through my jeans and left a tiny gash on my leg. Close enough to leave me leery of them for years. That weakness plagued my building process.
It was Sid who changed that. He placed the saw in my hands, confidence gleaming in his eyes. He knew I must conquer my fear. He pointed at a branch and told me to cut. Not what the saw was meant for, but it broke the spell. I made the cut safely, and years of fear loosened its grip. He was also the pillar during the framing and shelling in process.
Later, Ary flew back to BC for a summer getaway and Sid began his own rite of passage. Barefoot, he carried lumber up the ridge, piece by piece. He was beginning his own cabin build. It was more than building—it was initiation. The new focuses meant that the rest of my tiny cabin build was on me.
That’s when I took a desperately needed five-day sabbatical to GD60 in San Francisco. I almost didn’t go, but my crew convinced me I needed to share this experience with them. I also needed to share this experience with our extended jamfam. I danced, I sang, I lost myself in music and friends. I came back sick with bronchitis, which slowed my progress. I also returned with a gift from Chris and Lisa—a fancy new hammer. They also gave me a little pouch that reads, “I’m not bossy, I am the boss”. I giggled at that. And yes—it’s the boss within my soul that carried me to the finish line.
Pride in Progress
One of my proudest moments came when Ary returned from refreshed. The door wasn’t hung. The flooring was only half-finished. I was wrestling the bay window, which proved to be a beast of an install, but she walked in and saw pine on the walls, the trim was taking shape, and she noticed the meaningful progress that unfolded in her absence. Her eyes lit up, and I thought: Every blister, every splinter, every stubbed toe was worth this.
“Houses are like mirrors—they don’t just shelter us, they reflect us.” — Oprah Winfrey
The Empty Arrival
I thought the cabin would be the finish line, the place where I’d finally feel full. Instead, I felt hollow. Maybe it’s because houses aren’t destinations—they’re just containers. The real fullness was already here. It was in Ary’s laughter on the deck. It was in Sid’s barefoot climb up the ridge. It was in the dogs tumbling playfully across the floor of my cabin. It was in the fire that didn’t take our home this time.
I thought I was building a cabin. But maybe the cabin was building me.
“In the process of letting go you will lose many things from the past, but you will find yourself.” — Deepak Chopra
I looked up at the beauty of what we’d built and down at Ary in her conversion bus. A wave of guilt hit me hard—irrational and erratic. I wanted her to have her bus and my tiny cabin too. I wanted my daughter to be more comfortable. I felt like I was overstanding her. I felt guilty for having such a beautiful space. It dragged us all down for a moment. Part bronchitis, part worthiness wound—the same worthiness I coach others through, but clearly still need to work on myself. The lesson I learned through this process many mothers and parents need to hear.
As mothers, we often carry a deep longing for our children’s lives to be easier than our own. Many of us were raised to believe that sacrifice and servitude define a devoted mother. This belief is that love is proven through self-denial. It also means giving until we are depleted and have nothing left to give. My children have always felt my unwavering commitment to them. They know I would make sacrifices for them without hesitation.
But what undoes me, what brings tears to my eyes, is what they ask of me instead: not to sacrifice, not to serve endlessly, but to live. To achieve my dreams. To love myself enough to accept the gift of this life that we have created together. Their request is not for my suffering. It is for me to experience unadulterated bliss and pure happiness. They want me to rise into the fullness of who I am. In doing so, I give them permission to do the same.
Inspiration and Reflection
When it was all said and done, Eda, who often serves Ary and I coffee at one of our favourite local spots looked me in the eyes—bright with her own dreams of land. She told me I was her inspiration. Yes, I believed her. Reflecting on Eda’s sentiment helped me acknowledge our collective accomplishment and step into my bliss.
Then yesterday, with thunder splitting the air and fire sparking nearby, I realized something: even if this land is taken from us, I’ll find the strength to start again. My hope is that we don’t have to. My hope is that we carve out not just happiness, but years of something steadier—belonging, beauty, resilience.
Reflection for You:
Have you ever chased something so hard—only to arrive and realize the arrival isn’t what fills you? If so, please share your process with me. May your day be filled with blessings…
From my heart to yours, Joy
Tarot Card for Today (I needed some inspiration and thought I’d share with you…)
The Tower — fitting, isn’t it? Fire, collapse, shockwaves—yet always with the promise of building again, stronger and truer. This card reflects the fires, the thunderclap, my out-of-square deck *for the record, we corrected my foundation and deck, lol. But also, the liberation: once the false scaffolding falls, only what’s essential remains.
“We remember, we rebuild, we come back stronger!” – Barack Obama
Leave a comment