About five months ago, I moved into a yellow cabin way out in the forest in Tennessee. To get to the house, you turn off a normal street and drive back down a gravel road through trees and fields for about a mile. My closest neighbors are thus about a mile away. Every time I come home, it's kind of magical to me: a little yellow cabin in the forest with a green roof and a red front door, surrounded by trees. It's in the middle of 365 acres of land, some of which has been parceled out by the woman who owns it (from whom I am renting the yellow house) to farmers who grow hay, and some of which is being rented as pasture to a retiree who keeps horses. His pasture abuts my backyard, and I routinely begin my mornings by doing a double take out the back window at the giant animals walking around casually about fifty feet away. I still haven't gotten used to the horse thing.
One crazy magical thing about living out here is that I am always finding amazing things literally just lying around. For example, yesterday I was out in the yard taking pictures, and I happened to notice a metal object stuck into a tree trunk, above eye level. When I came across it, it looked like this:
I took it inside.
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Incidentally, every bedroom I've ever had looks like a variation on the same theme, but my bedroom in this house is, without a doubt, my favorite of them all.
I am moving back to Chicago in October, and I know I am going to miss my Pippi Longstocking house like balls.
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