Casa Wabi Sabi

The welders have been here for about three weeks. They’ve put up the frame of the overhang,which will be covered in metal sheeting with an oxidized (rusted) finish. They’ve also put up the steel beam structure of the carport/woodshop. Meanwhile the other albañils and helpers have been building the walls up to the 10 feet plus height of the finished ceiling. Now the true spaciousness of Barry’s design can be felt. Though each room is relatively small, the height of the ceilings, the many windows, and the open floor plan make the house feel much larger than it’s 2000 square feet, while maintaining its inviting coziness.

Dreaming of color schemes for the house, I took one of my favorite books out to the site last week for inspiration. Not finding the perfect shades or combinations in the book, I looked out the window openings and wide-open space of the yet-to-be-covered roof. Of course! The color scheme was hidden outside—the charcoal gray of the mesquite tree bark, the pale sage and brilliant coppery orange in the lichen growing on the branches, the warm gray-brown of the soil, the pale gold of the mesquite seed pods. Today I found a bamboo plate with a porcelain finish that had all those colors in it. The color scheme is emerging…

Yet on the next visit, I came face to face with the fact that I wasn’t so inspired at the slow emerging of our new home. That day I wanted it finished—now.

I wondered how the hell those little pipes and orange conduits were going to safely carry water, gas, and electricity to the heaters, faucets, light switches and plugs of a finished house. Intellectually I knew it would organize into a house, but to my eyes, no way the mess could become a home.

I have developed a bad habit of asking Barry annoying questions: How is the water going to drain? Why is that hole there? It’s raining—will the adobe melt into mud? The walls are how high? Why does this room look so small? Will our bed really fit there? Where’s the pantry?

The day I could only see the mess, I moved a plastic chair up to the highest point on the property under the mesquites—and just watched. Men were working on every surface, a wall was suddenly higher, and a window opening appeared where none existed ten minutes ago. A network of tied-together steel rebar suddenly sprouted out of the bedroom.

I got up and walked around the house, and I finally got it—the house had a deep, creative rhythm all its own. I saw the gray-brown earth becoming adobe blocks. Adobe blocks becoming the walls of the house. The house becoming a home—coming alive, one day at a time.

This weekend when we were out there it was easy to picture the plastered walls, the stone floor, even the boveda ceilings. The walled garden reminds me of one of my favorite childhood books, The Secret Garden—it will be a shade garden since it’s on the north side of the house, and will have a fountain. I’m picking out the refrigerator, stove and dishwasher—all as energy-efficient as possible, and Barry’s going to have his auto body shop guy Luis spray-paint our much-loved washer/dryer stackables to hide all the scratches from the move, and give them new life (did you know that front-load washers save 40% water over top-loaders)? We’ve bought the remaining three bathroom sinks, and all of the door hardware at Home Depot in Celaya, the nearest city to San Miguel. The door handles are very contemporary, very cool (muy padre in Spanish)—they will definitely add to the ‘fusion’ aspect of the house—sleek brushed chrome against the rusted iron and crafted wood of the handmade doors. We also unpacked some faucets and pendant lights we’d brought down. The living and dining room of our rental are starting to look like a showroom.

The bovedas start getting built this week, and the beams are going up. Barry, so solution-oriented, had the guys wrap the wood beams in thick plastic wrap to protect them from the rain. Good thing, I was starting to obsess about how they were going to be protected—and yes, I asked an annoying question about it—”Bear, what about the beams being out in the rain?” “It’s taken care—they’re wrapped in Saran Wrap.” “Saran Wrap? You’re kidding.” “No I’m not. Saran Wrap.” “Oh.” (picture in next progress report…)

This last photo is of the roof over the outdoor sala—the opening will be a small boveda (dome) made out of brick to give some height to the space below. A fan will hang from the center to keep air circulating in the super hot periods of late spring, before the rains come. It’s been a fairly dry rainy season here, though there’s been enough to make it beautifully green everywhere. It’s time to start praying to Tlaloc, the ancient rain god, to bring rain for the corn and the reservoirs mixed with enough sun to allow the roof to be poured in about three weeks. Hope you’re all having a good summer, and we’ll talk to you in another post in a few weeks.