In search of a haybale house HEATHER DAVIS
The Saturday started out well-planned, but when chance showed up the day became an amazing adventure full of new friends, collectible junk and genuine generosity.
It began with a quest for buckwheat pancakes. Good buckwheat pancakes. So, we headed out across the St. Lawrence River to the Buckwheat Festival in Louiseville. The festival was a bit of a bust for us: some of our pancakes were burnt, no -- we didn't want beer for breakfast and, no, we didn't want to hire Bob and Lou to sing at our wedding. But we left with full tummies, a buckwheat pillow, and a 1969 Super 8 Video Camera discovered at a local garage sale.
It was only 11 a.m. Too early to go home. So, we decided to take the back roads home.
We were cruising around, admiring houses, when we saw it. It was a large house with fine wooden window frames and an unusual cement finish. Ghis and I looked at each other. Could it be?
You see, Ghis has been in search of a hay house for a long time. He had already read all the articles he could find about them, fantasized about them, and tried to convince me that this was the way to go.
He had heard that hay houses were an inexpensive, creative solution to house-building where thick cement walls are constructed with hay bales stacked in between for insulation.
It all sounded a little too 'three little pigs' to me, nevertheless, I thought I'd like to examine one up close. So, two country blocks later, we decided to turn around. We drove back past it again. Couldn't tell.
Finally, Ghis stopped the car and knocked on the front door. The man inside didn't turn around. "MmHmm?" he said. "What can I do for you?"
Five minutes later we were inside enjoying a fine cup of organically, home-grown mint tea. We chatted about light subjects at first, then the conversation grew deeper and deeper. We delved into love and lifetime relationships. Then lifestyles and consumerism. Then choices and decisions and the different stages of life.
At times it felt like we were speaking with our possible future selves. So, when they asked us to come back for supper, how could we say no?
We showed up at about 5 p.m. and there was a note guiding us to their hobby farm. There, we admired their chickens, geese, rabbits, solitary cow, and rambunctious pig. The farm was on a hilltop, bordered all around by trees - a true sanctuary.
Dinner was out of this world. Leek and potato soup (from their garden), goose terrine (shot a week before by a friend), homemade bread, rabbit (theirs, of course), wine from the cellar, cheeses, and a hazelnut jam cake. Unfortunately, I was too stuffed to eat dessert and if you know me at all, you know that's serious!
After expressing our appreciation, we left in time to catch the ferry to Sorel. We drove home with warm hearts, laughing about the strangeness of the whole event. You see, it wasn't even a hay house after all.
Copyright © 2000 Heather Davis/Log Cabin Chronicles/10.00 |
