You know when you’re on an airplane, in turbulence, and the overhead bins start to shake, and everything starts to shake, and suddenly the plane plunges for a moment and it feels like nothing is beneath you, holding you aloft? And even though you know the thing can fly and aerodynamics will keep you safe (you’re good at pushing from your mind the many plane failures you’ve heard of), part of you is afraid the plane will break into a thousand pieces and you’ll find yourself with nothing solid under your feet, falling to your death, gasping in vain for lungfuls of air?

Last summer, it was my life that started to shake with a turbulence I’d never experienced before. My plane did crack apart, and it was the most terrifying, vertiginous thing I have ever undergone. But it was also the most miraculous. I found a well of bravery and boldness I didn’t know I possessed. Instead of free-falling, I discovered I’d never needed a plane to begin with.

I was a fucking dragon.

“For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn't understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.

The above is all so vague as to be useless, but if you’ve ever gone through intense personal life changes, perhaps you can relate to the sentiment. Often, I really am only capable of talking about all of this in metaphors. I shall try to keep it more direct. In more practical speak: Tyler and I had a rough couple of years of what-in-the-hell-are-we-doing-with-our-lives stress. Our spirits were stretched to their breaking points, beginning to fray from the friction of two very different humans wanting very different things in life but being devoted to one another nonetheless.

Finally, last summer / fall everything came to a head and my "plane” shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. And then, thanks to my world crumbling apart, something beautiful and miraculous happened: I stumbled upon the reality that I’m gay.

There are enough stories and insights contained within the paragraph above to fill a book, but that will have to do for now.

After months of navigating our brave new world, it quickly became clear that “Husband” and “Wife” just weren’t accurate descriptors for the shape of our relationship. It felt wrong to keep them. So, Tyler and I separated. We also got matching bike chain grease tattoos and went on a motorcycle trip.

We remain family, BFFs, memory-keepers, partners in business and life, adventure buddies, and champions of each other living our best lives. When you’ve experienced and created as much as Tyler and I have together, you never stop loving each other, you never stop your story. You just boldly change it. You keep the good parts, and Konmari the bejesus out of everything else. Which, to be honest, is always how we’ve rolled.

Life is too short for anything else.

I moved an hour east of the homestead to be near the woman I love: Erin, heart of my heart. She’s got eyes that shine with starlight, a laughter of bells, a smile that lights my world. She’s my cloud-admirer and veery-finder, my balm and my catalyst. The woman with whom I want to dance through life, zipped back together like Plato’s halves.

Tyler helped me pack.

If he hadn’t, I really don’t know if I’d ever have summoned the courage to be brave enough to do what needed to be done to heed the hollering of my heart. Biking around the world, living in a trailer through two Vermont winters, building a house by hand, flying into the sky on what is effectively a go-cart, and learning to breathe underwater...these activities all required courage.

But this was nothing, nothing compared to the bravery required to be honest enough with myself to admit that I had to change the shape of our relationship.

The amount of gratitude I have for him knows no bounds.

I wish I could say this transition was a purely joyful one, but that would be a massive lie. This past year was fraught with screaming fights and last straws, and more tears than I can count. But there was also such tenderness, understanding, and deep love for one another that I still can’t fathom how I got to be so lucky.

Meanwhile, Erin’s and my relationship is complex in a way I never believed I’d be capable of navigating. In many ways, it feels like the past year was training so I’d be able to be with her. Actually, it feels like the past eleven years were training. Tyler and I were each other’s rock tumblers, so we could finally crack each other open to be the people we were meant to be.

I wouldn’t say life is easy now, but I am thriving and happy. Standing on my own two feet, flying with my own two wings, more at home in my own skin than I’ve ever been.

Barn's burnt down / now I can see the moon.

With our homestead cloaked in fog, and the glaring morning sun diffused, my everyday surroundings seem altered, magical, as if this is some alternate, parallel universe I'm just now able to glimpse. And I, in turn, feel like a woman from a fairy tale, drawn deeper and deeper into the woods. How rad would it be if I stepped into another world, another time?

My photoshoot and woods walk don't last long. My fantastical reveries soon come to an abrupt halt when the mist departs, or gets burned off in the strengthening sun. Life returns to normal, and our buildings and woods have regained their lovely but decidedly un-magical state of being. Time, now, for the day to begin.

We have all the tools, books, resources, and documentation we need to understand what to do. Literally the only thing standing between us and a completed roof has been summoning the wherewithal to start. As expected, the first part was the hardest. We had to start over multiple times (and remove a fair few slate) until we understood how get the first few courses laid correctly, but we got there.

This roof is going to be a work of art! I'm so glad we're underway :)

I mean let's face it, our time of domestic bliss was short-lived...

...rapidly replaced with two years of perpetual discomfort and total chaos.

Hopefully your new owners will appreciate you. Goodbye, Camper!

I wasn't prepared for how finished our cottage would feel after the earthen floor installation (after all, we just replaced one mottled surface—concrete—with another), but the difference was remarkable. The transformation was so massive, in fact, that I decided we'd turned a corner in our homesteading project. "The early years" (as our woodsman friend, Jonathan, describes the hardscrabble times at the beginning of this adventure) were over.

This new, dawning era we've entered shall not be one of end-of-our-ropes levels of ovewhelm. Instead, I have a feeling it will be one of satisfaction, capability, and completion. Since moving back into our beautiful cottage, we've been finishing so many niggling projects and to-do list items!

We purchased a rug to go in front of the door...

...and I cleaned plaster off of our cistern shed trim and repainted it.

We installed a hanging flower bracket on the front of our house so we could delight in the sight of blooms every time we go in and out. For now, we have glorious pink begonias. When fall comes, I may replace them with mums.

I built a box to cover our ugly coil of plaster-splattered projector cord...

...and installed a shelf so we have a place to put our wallets, keys, and mail upon entering the house.

We also bought an outdoor bench that doubles as storage. This allows us to keep unsightly necessities like muddy boots and chainsaws out of the house, while also providing a nice place to sit down and enjoy being outside. Finally, we purchased a chest for our sleeping loft that stores our suitcases and extra bedding so we don't have to stare at them all the time.

And with that, almost everything in this cottage (including ourselves) has a home. It's good to be back.

I love Erik and Radha for many reasons, but the one that stood out to me today is their ability to be living reminders of what's truly important. As we sat (post-berry-picking) in the shade of a large tree, unhurriedly staring up at leaves quivering in the wind, they talked about a lesson they'd learned during the yearlong bicycle tour from which they recently returned.

The lesson was to slow down or stop altogether. To sit in the grass or in a hammock, to spend time doing nothing at all. While it is perfectly acceptable in some countries to work hard and then rest well, the dreaded L-word is taboo in our society. How much better our lives would be if we allowed ourselves a bit of laziness. Thanks for the reminder, you two!

We've been watching it deteriorate in slow-motion, knowing we need to do something about it, and with this last round of storms, it's gotten so bad we can't ignore it. In retrospect it seems pretty clear we should have done something sooner, but alas, we live and learn. This week we hired Lorimark Landscaping to lay some new stone. Long term, we need to do a better job directing the water off the road higher up the drive, but for now, things are shaping up nicely. Thanks for your excellent work Mark!

After a week and a half of drying time, the basecoat of the floor is finally solid enough to stand on, which means we can walk into our own house like normal people. Though the place is a total disaster, it's a relief to be able to at least set foot inside our little cottage again. In a few days, Chad and his crew will return to apply a final coat of clay slip, and we'll be ousted once again.

Our present circumstances being what they are, Tyler and I have a brief window of opportunity in which to complete one final indoor construction project: trimming the raggedy wood and drywall around our skylights.

Seeing as how we won't want to drag the scaffolding into the house after the floor is finished, and seeing as how any dings or scuffs we inflict upon the floor will be covered by the finish coat, it's now or never! With the OK from Chad, we set up our scaffolding and get to work.

The process of trimming our skylights involves plenty of head-scratching, but eventually we settle on a design and a method. We use half-inch finish plywood to cover the deep window wells, and thin, wooden trim to cover all the interior edges. Where the window well meets the ceiling, we opt for horizontal trim.

Since the cut outs for our skylights didn't end up being perfectly square, the distance between the sides of the skylight and their closest rafters differ greatly. We don't want to draw attention to the unevenness, so instead of installing wonky vertical trim in widths ranging from three inches to nonexistent, we fill the sides with joint compound. (Tyler's great idea!) When dry, we smooth and sand the sides so they look just like the drywall ceiling.

After filling holes with wood putty, we come back the following day to sand and paint. Hooray! I'm pleased with how they turned out! We really, really are getting down to the last of the last of the house projects! We've still got the skylights in the loft to trim, but they won't require scaffolding, so we're done for now.

Bonus chore: In order to cover the joint at the peak of the roof where you could see two sheets of blueboard meeting, I painted some quarter-round trim white to match the ceiling. We cut pieces to fit between each rafter pair, and Tyler brad-nailed them on. Now, the joint is nicely covered!

It just so happens that your friend here is only MOSTLY dead. There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive.

All of our fruit trees sailed through winter unscathed, with the exception of our peach tree. After taking weeks longer than the others to show signs of life, Peach finally sprouted a single leaf. Well, that single leaf has now grown into a veritable pom pom of life on a spindly scaffolding that looks really and truly dead. I'm not sure what to do about the situation to encourage growth, but I'm pleased the tree is hanging on.

Good luck team, you're going to need it!

Looks great!

By the end of day one, most of the house is plastered!

We peek in from the doorway to check out the progress:

By the end of the day, the second layer of basecoat is finished.

And now we wait...

In other earthen floor news, Liz mixed up some finish coat samples to show us options for color, We both opted for the one on the right, which we think is prettier, and it uses local clay.

Here it is, finally complete!

Last night, Tyler and I prepared by clearing out the house—moving our beloved table, stereo cabinets, rolling storage carts, and everything in between. When we were through, our countertops, window seats, and entire loft bedroom were filled with newly homeless items. Nothing remained on the floor.

Then, we ran around frantically, trying to pack for our six-week exodus. Groceries were crammed into the fridge of our as-yet unsold camper. Clothes (still in a suitcase, yet unpacked from California), camping gear, wallets, toiletries, computers, shoes, and camera equipment were dispersed throughout our vehicles and sheds. Once more, we found ourselves in the midst of complete upheaval after finally getting settled.

I'm trying to keep a good attitude about this. I'm trying to recognize that this is the final push—soon we will have a lovely floor. The truth is, though, it feels like a huge leap in the wrong direction. It's kind of crushing to know we will be living in chaos yet again, constantly wondering if all we've worked to create will be destroyed by rain, perpetually searching for things because nothing has a place, including us.

Goodbye, little house. We'll miss you.

I remembered how we first met Nadine, who happened to be working in the Munich camping store where we'd gone to replace our stolen cook stove. I remembered how she invited us over to watch the world cup, and how, though we can be fairly anti-social, we accepted without hesitation.

I remembered meeting Felix, and thinking how wonderful this couple was together. I remembered how, the next day, the four of us hopped on bicycles and toured around Munich. The day following that one, Felix and Nadine took us hiking in the Bavarian countryside.

I remembered how sad we were to leave Felix and Nadine in Munich, and how happy we were when they drove their big green bus (BGB) to meet us in Nürnberg. They cheered our rain-soaked and bike-weary souls with delectable coffee and easy companionship. I remembered how we bummed around the old town and ate delicious meat and huge pretzels, laughing and creating our own inside jokes.

I remembered how, a few weeks later, we met up again in Berlin and stayed in a really funky communist-era hostel. Together, we explored the city by bicycle, and in the little red car we'd later dub "LRC."

And finally, I remembered how we parted ways. How we hugged goodbye on the curb, and then drove away to begin a new adventure, bound for Russia. That was the last time we saw them.

As I read through our journal entries, reliving the memories we made with our German friends, I decided, teary-eyed, that six years was a criminally long time between visits. Sure, we'd kept in ok touch, exchanging holiday cards and the occasional email. But infrequent correspondence pales in comparison to seeing each other in person. And so, I emailed Felix and Nadine that very day, telling them how much we missed them, saying how we really should plan a trip together.

Nadine responded right away! She said they were going to be in California visiting Felix's aunt, and did we want to join them out west? When I looked at their dates, I was floored—we were already going to be in California during their visit! Immediately, we began planning. At last it was settled: we'd drive up to Mount Shasta to go camping with my brother, and to hang out with them.

Now, Lian is driving us through the central valley and into cool mountains of northern California. Tyler is sleeping in the backseat, adorably clutching his Viktor Frankl book. Meanwhile, I'm in the passenger's seat, chatting with Lian and learning Italian on my Duolingo app. Night is falling; Lian is getting tired; I'll soon take over the drive. With luck, we'll secure ourselves a pitch at McBride Springs campground in Mount Shasta, and in the morning, we'll see our friends again.

Another day, we went through his entire entire kitchen, which was chock full of food and cookware that old roommates had left behind. We chucked ancient, dusty spices, got rid of dishes he didn't like, and pitched several coffee makers he didn't use. After, as my brother says, "Kon-mari-ing his shit" we brought loads of things to the Goodwill.

Lian & Tara Painting Wall Succulents at Lian's Apartment Lian's Oakland Apartment View Golden State Warriors in NBA Finals Lian Cleaning Oakland Apartment Window Oakland Sunset Driving in Oakland

After all of our effort, Lian's apartment is SO much better, and best of all, truly his own. When we told some of his friends what we'd been doing during our visit, they chuckled and said to me, "Wow, he puts you to work right away, eh?" And I laughed and told them I'm only returning the favor.

I love you, Lian! I'm so glad we got so much done on your apartment!