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Still stuck in that 80’s opposite sketch…I’m fall cleaning. I know, I know, most people spring clean. I do some of that, but I’m much more prone to deep clean in the fall. I know what’s coming: six months of long, dark winter days with the house sealed up as tightly as possible. I won’t want to go out (even less than I don’t want to go out all summer) and the furnace will run almost constantly. All the outdoor potted plants have to come in and find floor space, along with the windowsills being pressed into service to house any herbs or kitchen plants we might want to nurse along…I prepare myself as best I can.

There are some very welcome adjustments, too. My writing desk can go back in the eastern bedroom window after the air conditioner comes out. I have hot water heat and that means radiators. Unlike forced air heating, there is no fan blowing around the cat hair and dust mites to aggravate my allergies. It’s clean, consistent, and radiant. However central air is not an option (no ductwork), so we sacrifice the use of two windows for the summer to accommodate big window units, and I am grateful to have them.

The end of September the professional window washer will come and wipe away the summer dust and grime so my view is clear. I can watch the heavy wet snow in the hurricane force wind as it splats and sticks to the windows like gigantic white moths on a speeding windshield…who has more fun, I ask you?! I can sit, warm and comfy, and observe the large picture glass ripple in the wind like the surface of the lake in summer…and practice praying.

And although that is not an exaggeration, my little house sits high on a hill, just inland of the bluffs along the western shore of Michigan. It is equipped with hurricane windows and has held it’s own against the elements for near as many years as I have been alive. I do feel safe here. Once the leaves are blown off the deciduous trees I catch glimpses of light off the water when the sky allows. Most days I feel like I’m living in a shoe box and God forgot to take the lid off. Like much of the midwest in winter, the ground and the sky are the same cloudless flat grey, day in and day out and day in and day out, week after week for months on end. The sun is a rare sight. So I prepare myself as best I can.

Yes, I dust off the daylight lamps, the “happy lights,” as therapists call them. Make sure I’m stocked up on light bulbs and candles and firewood and all the blankets and fuzzy slippers are at the ready. Each of my three doors will have a container of snow melt pellets and a snow shovel within arms reach at all times. You never know when you might have to shovel your way out. I live within a mile of the grocery store, library and post office, and there will be days that trek is not possible.

All that said, I choose to live here. There are small things I would certainly do differently were I house hunting today, but it is a fabulous place to live. The views are beautiful. The quiet of a snowy winters’ day is as peaceful as it gets. It is an environment entirely suited to an introverted writer and artist. In truth, I don’t understand why anyone would live anywhere else. One of the best things about winter is that most of the tourists leave and my town becomes a sleepy hamlet again. Not as traffical.

My favorite view is toward the east, which is the direction the front of my house faces. My favorite time of day is early morning. My favorite drink is coffee. These three factors alone lend themselves to a lifestyle that I love. Just thinking about it now makes me warm and fuzzy inside…