The Little House in the Finca

Jonah, Brynna and I started reading Little House in the Big Woods a few days ago, and I am reminded of what a lovely writer Laura Ingalls Wilder is. Her descriptions of every day life so long ago are crisp and clear: the corn cob wrapped in a scarf that Laura uses as a doll, the little shelf Pa makes for Ma for Christmas, the sound of uncle's fiddle putting the children to sleep.  Even the scenes about Pa's rifle and pig butchering -- neither subject I care much about -- are poignant.

As Paul and I work to set up our little house here in La Josefina, I  cannot help but admire the strength, resilience and utter commitment that the characters in the book display. Ma churning her own butter, Pa making his own bullets, the children entertaining themselves for hours with simple items while their parents work. Could I every do any one of those things with competence or grace?

Meanwhile, in our neck of the woods, we have way fewer obstacles to setting up our home than the Wilder family; we have electricity (yes!), running water (yes!), caring friends (yes!), wifi right in town (really?!).  We also have good bones to work with -- a very cute cinderblock casita replete with a tin roof, basic tiled floor and even indoor plumbing. For a whopping $60 a month.

Even so, it is no easy task to make a home. We brought a lot of crap in our suitcases, but there is a lot we didn't bring. Finding a kitchen table, choosing pillows, buying a frying pan and a spatula that won't melt with first use, getting screens made for windows that are not standardly sized, deciding what furniture we need, and what we can do without.  And, most challenging of all, navigating a foreign and complex system to accomplish each of these tasks.

After all, there is no Target, no Ross, no Amazon in Ecuador.

Paul is an upfront investment sort of guy. I've known this a long time, but it is readily apparent in this particular circumstance. Whereas I was brought up to accept meager surroundings as they are and just deal, he has no problem spending hours and hours to making the little house our home.  Right now. And for this, I am grateful, if also at times annoyed.

As such, after a trip into town for some paint and other acoutraments, we have dedicated many hours the last few days cleaning and painting the interior walls of the house. The kids voted for a rainbow house, but we went for boring cream, bright yellow (my favorite) in the kitchen. We will get a rainbown in there somewhere. I'd be fine with one coat of paint; Paul insists on two. I say skip the bottom part of the wall where the paint has trouble sticking in tropical humidity. Paul says, use a base coat and two more on top. Use a brush, not a roller, and go slow.

Paul also doesn't complain as he plots moving light switches to accommodate a small fridge and even setting a kitchen triangle so that the stove will sit adjacent to the preparation space. Every time I  think, "Okay, all done let's set up the beds and the kitchen table and call it a day," Paul says something like, "hmmm, I bet I could rewire the kitchen lighting to allow for task and mealtime lighting".  Just wait until he gets to his plan for the kids beds. That did not make the "before we move in" list.

Mind you, we are talking about a ~600 square foot space with naked light bulbs illuminating concrete walls. And yet, thanks mostly to Paul, our little house is coming along quite nicely. 

While we work, the children are mostly entertained by the copious orange trees in the backyard. I hope there is no illness they can acquire from sucking on too many oranges (I don't think there is). In between they roam the village with a band of kids who are home for summer or play Legos back in our temporary apartment. Our move is not pressured because we are happily housed for now next door to my friend Lucia, who insists on feeding us at least three hot meals per day, despite being gainfully employed (while we work just for ourselves these days).

Tomorrow's projects are to get the stove up and running, get the kitchen faucet working and maybe even entertain the possibilty of hot water in the shower. Woo hoo! I had psychologically prepared myself for a year of cold showers, but I will be so much nicer of a wife and mother if I can have a lukewarm shower every few days. Thanks, Paul.

Our is no little house in the big woods, but it is an undertaking -- to set down deep enough roots, to create a space in which our children (and ourselves) feel safe and can thrive for the next year, and to do so in a way that is in line with social norms  and expectations for the region we are living in. I will give you all a tour soon. For now, take heart, we are well!