How Bad Could It Be?

Sculpture of the two of us (Dave on the right) by Marguerite Howland. What was I going to do??

Things looked grim financially. My youngest brother and his wife pushed me through settling the debts from caring for Dave at home in his last years — all the credit cards finally paid off, in order of interest rate. And I was working nearly around the clock, catching freelance work from India as well as from my long-term US clients. At least I’d managed to “send forth” about 14,000 of Dave’s 20,000 books. Progress.

But the payments on the remaining double mortgage of the house were huge, and I could barely stay afloat. No regrets; I had wanted Dave to not be worried, and that’s pretty much what I achieved. Now, what could I do?

Running the numbers kept coming up with the same answer: At best, selling the house and paying off the loans meant just about $100,000 to work with. That’s a lot bigger than a grocery bill, but very small for a house these days. At least, for a house with running water and a heating system. And there, I decided, was my bottom line.

My younger son and his wife gasped at the amount of money. “We could build you something for way less, from logs.” Their dreamy faces reflected how they felt about fresh sawdust, new-milled boards, hard work by hand.

Sure, a log cabin, with water hauled from a spring and a woodpile, might have tickled me fifty years earlier. But not now.