I am hunting for an apartment with my best friend, an activity which, in reality, has been daunting enough. We are luckier in my subconscious however, and we walk into the first house on our list to find that it is everything we had hoped for in a house. There is a sunny breakfast nook painted robin’s egg blue, with a charming view of the ocean. The living room has a real, wood-burning fireplace and the window is extended out into a large daybed.
Tulips peek up over the window sill with dippy little faces bouncing in the breeze. There is a wraparound porch, covered and screened and we laugh to think of ourselves putting up a hammock in the summer and sipping Arnold Palmer’s with ice from sweaty glasses.
We run through the house barefoot making little squeaking noises as our toes dance across the cherry-wood, until we emerge onto the back lawn. There is a full garden absolutely brimming with fresh-on-the-vine vegetables and bees buzz lazily around a little hut made just for them. We have chickens too, and they are blissfully un-sewing fat pink worms from the ground and scratching about in the garden.
The small handmade hutch is a charming copy of the actual house complete with vestigial white shutters and a passable copy of the french double doors painted onto the coop front. Sufficed to say, we are thoroughly charmed and press the owner that she should sign us on as tenants immediately! A difficult decision is before her however, her current tenants are three little kittens and they are quite a bit more adorable than the two of us. We do have an edge however, as we can pay rent, and they, being of the animal kingdom, cannot.