an ode to my seaside cottage
the story of how we made our house a home
I manifested a cottage with a seaside view, nestled on a quiet block underneath avocado and lemon trees in San Diego, California. I had the vision in my head of what I wanted: a quiet one bedroom with a view of the ocean and a yard. I could feel free, safe, loved, and cozy. I made it happen, but as always, it didn’t happen the way I thought it would.
I had envisioned myself living in this cottage alone, but I met my partner and we decided to move into together rather quickly. When we saw the house, I did not think much of it. In fact, I did not even think I could live there. The house appeared to be falling apart and the yard was mangled. The centerpiece was a giant overgrown rosemary bush surrounded by dusty, dry dirt. The toilet required you to dump a bucket of water in it to flush (a horrifying idea when you move in with your boyfriend for the first time). The bathroom and kitchen floor was yellow-flowered laminate from the 70s. The landlord boasted about a “view of the ocean”, but you had to strain your neck and closed one eye in order to see it, because it was obscured by an untamable vine. I saw the paint flaking on the original windows, exposing the wood to the vulnerable to the salty ocean air, and I was immediately concerned for this house. It needed love, care, and attention.
While my partner saw a beautiful home, I saw lots of work. He looked so hopeful and excited, and I wondered if there was something wrong with me that I didn’t see the beauty he did. I loved him, and I didn’t want to be the snobbish voice of reason to dim the light of excitement in his eyes. I decided to let go and trust him.
We moved in the day before Christmas Eve. The landlord forgot to turn on the gas, which left us both without heat and a working stovetop. My partner turned into one of Santa’s elves, making a fire in our new fireplace and rushed around to hang our stockings by the fireplace. He brought me a glass of wine as I lounged on the couch with my feet warm in his woolen socks. There were boxes everywhere, but we managed to set-up the record player. Never before had I felt so cared for, even amongst the mess, as I did laying on that couch.
After a silly morning making Christmas breakfast on our camping stove, our mugs filled with coffee and whiskey and our bellies packed with bacon, we spent the rest of our Christmas holiday putting the house in working condition.
I took a bucket and water and scrubbed each of the window panes, removing layers of dirt, spiderwebs, and chipped paint. I got each window in workable order so they could at least be opened and closed. My partner crawled under the crawlspace of the home, a camping headlight affixed to his head, to not only fix the leaky pipe but also to gather electricity to hang bistro lights across the backyard. When he emerged, it looked as though he was a character in the movie The Green Mile - the soot and cobwebs covered his body.
Soon after the immediate eyesores were taken care of and the overgrown bramble bush was gone, we really could see the ocean. I found a teak table on Facebook marketplace that became our outdoor dining room. We salvaged chairs from the neighboring alleys and spent one afternoon painting them a pop of colors. We retiled the bathroom floors with peel and stick. We went to the local plant shop and invested in native plants that would survive the droughts. We grew passionfruit along the fence and split the abundant yield with our neighbors in exchange for their figs.
The most beautiful part was that the house was situated under a huge avocado tree. We hung a hammock on the branches and I snuck out there on my lunch breaks to read a few pages of my book. It was also a great morning ritual to wake up and check the yard for any avocados that fell overnight. We had fresh, giant avocados almost every day. We also had our Crocs by the door to run for garden work or put kitchen scraps in the “compost”. I grew my first California orange poppy, right next to the strawberry patch and the tomatoes. I also grew my first cut flower garden, the blooms arriving just before we left.
We shared the yard with our good friends, and seeing them across the way daily made our life so easy. Sundowner’s in the yard after work? A quick walk to the ocean to see the sunset? Someone was always there to relax. They hosted a soup night; we hosted a wine tasting. There was always a bonfire to stay warm and cozy and lots of extra hats and coats. Our friends all lived in the neighborhood, so we were always receiving a surprise visits from them: the twins arriving in their stroller, our friend roasting coffee. There was never a shortage of toys - we threw our paddleboards in the yard after a SUP trip to let them dry.
My partner transformed the garage into his own private studio. He hung his weirdest art in there and set-up his own speakers so he could listen to books on tape. He hung every tool in an exacting position. After he came home from a long day of work he would go in there and spent a few hours working on projects and drinking the beer he brewed (the kegerator was kept there too). Whenever I walked into the garage, it felt like I was reading his diary.
We cooked a lot in our little galley kitchen. My partner made our beautiful round table with a view to the ocean. We ate breakfast together most mornings, taking turns on who is brewing the coffee. On Wednesdays I walked down to the farmer’s market and got pastry from my favorite sourdough guy, so on Thursdays we always had a decadent breakfast together.
I’m not sure how it happened, but in this house I became a softer version of the woman I once was. Maybe it was all those ripe avocados, or the warm sun flooding our backyard year round, or my fingers clawing into California dirt. Whatever the case, whenever I am scared, I think of the safest place I’ve ever known: under the lights of our seaside cottage, the sounds of the waves crashing in the distance, the fire crackling in the night.
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If you’d like to read about my other homes, here they are (in age order).
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I also read the most beautiful love poem this week in Italian school. I’m sharing this with you as my Valentine’s day gift.
almeno un milione di scale, Eugenio Montale
Ho sceso, dandoti il braccio, almeno un milione di scale
e ora che non ci sei è il vuoto ad ogni gradino.
Anche così è stato breve il nostro lungo viaggio.
Il mio dura tuttora, nè più mi occorrono
le coincidenze, le prenotazioni,
le trappole, gli scorni di chi crede
che la realtà sia quella che si vede.
Ho sceso milioni di scale dandoti il braccio
non già perché con quattr'occhi forse si vede di più.
Con te le ho scese perché sapevo che di noi due
le sole vere pupille, sebbene tanto offuscate,
erano le tue.
what a wonderful memory and something to strive for as you get settled in Italy. Thank you for sharing. One little tiny writing tip.... tell us your partners name.. and new readers will quickly figure out how he is important to you. Writing my partner over and over again is repetitive. You might find other ways to refer to this person, my significant other, or my honey, or my partner in crime. etc