Tuesday, August 14, 2012

The small things.

This is the door to my cottage in a small sea town in the Northwest of the United States.  To reach the door, you have to go over a bridge of sorts, as the house sits above street level. At night, the bridge is lighted from below! A grand entry for a modest cottage. Off this bridge, before you reach the street, you travel on pea gravel, watching your steps lest you'd step on deer poop.

Deer roam freely, and often stop by this camellia bush and chew up the lower branches.

This picture was taken a while back, around Halloween. The pumpkins didn't invite people up to the house; the footbridge did, and does, every single day. And this cranberry door.
Just a few years ago I wouldn't have picked this color for my front door. I wanted doors that didn't call attention; doors that remained closed to the world; doors that didn't invite people to circle around the neighborhood and case this joint.

There is a certain attitude about living in rural areas. Doors remain unlocked. Everyone has pets. Everyone's pet is known to everyone else.  We identify our houses by our doors, or some unusual tree that would cause a stranger to focus on as he wanders down the street.

Even though my front garden and driveway have been upgraded, this bridge and this door-now-more-than-ever-stand out from the street. When someone asks me where I live, I mention the cranberry door and the foot bridge.

Well, I can also mention the arbors across the front door!


  1. I sense your openness and welcoming in every word you write. You unlocked your heart and door to all of us. Thanks Rosaria.

  2. oh it does look inviting
    how wonderful to have such a place, a sanctuary

  3. deja vu? you posted something so similar to this before(?)

    i guess mentioning the deer poop wouldn't narrow the scope:)

    you're happy with your simple pleasures. this makes me happy too.


  4. A cranberry door....very inviting!