I often think of moving out of this house, especially lately. If it were not for the fact that my father built it, I would have moved long ago. A log home was never my dream.
My dream house
Would be one level.
The laundry room would be in the house and there would be a place to hang clothes as I get them out of the dryer.
It would be on about 5 or 10 acres (I have over 27 now).
It would be one of those cute little farm houses. (I don’t know the name of the style)
It would have a deep wrap around porch with rocking chairs and screen doors.
There would be more than ample storage. So much that I could keep my Christmas tree decorated and just cover it each year and wheel it on in to the “Christmas” storage area.
I’d have an actual guest room.
I would have a room for a studio and I’d put a Murphy bed in it for extra guests.
The kitchen would be much bigger than the one I have now and it would be so nice that I would actually want to cook.
There would be room for a dining table somewhere.
I would have a dishwasher and a window over the kitchen sink.
I would even have a fireplace.
My dream house would have no cedar in sight. There would be no mud. And it would have a claw foot bathtub.
Ahhh to dream, the impossible dream.