We came to this cottage on the ripple of a wave. Brought here, drifting into an unknown shore looking for a new way of life in which to raise our growing tribe. This cottage, first seen when I was a child, had captured my imagination for years and when it became available to buy following my first child’s birth we knew we had to view it. We knew we had found home. Our infant son was still only a few weeks old when our offer was accepted. He was 13 months old when we were given the keys to the rotting front door, he was 2 and a big brother when we spent our first night here. This has not been a lifestyle acquired overnight. This has been a journey that is only just beginning to come to fruition five years and one more child the line.
This is our story.
This cottage is old and small. It’s five rooms have no straight edges or level floors. The inglenook dominates our main room, its six foot stone lintel lifted from the fields by hand, by many men, many years ago. The windows are small, the walls are thick but the ceilings soar to the roof. And beyond these walls the view spills down to the coastline some three miles away and out over Anglesey and the Irish Sea. Behind us, the mountains of Snowdonia loom like guardians.
This is home.
I can tell you how not to try taming a wild cottage, because we tried. How not to think you can make stone walls bend to adpat to your needs, to expand to accommodate belongings, because we tried that too. This is how to accept that it is what it is and love it anyway. How to adapt a lifestyle in order to stay living here and be happy.
How to be happy.
This is blood, sweat and swear words. And how the cottage changed us before we could change the cottage.
This is more than a home. This is our life. Owning only what is useful, needed, wanted and loved. Buying local, supporting local. In the foothills of Snowdonia, with three acres, three children and a bucketload of firewood.
Home educating, homemade, homespun, home loving.