Not the kind of tent house we make around here in our nest. Ours is made from my grandmother's quilt and the cushions from the sofa, filled with board books and stuffed bears and dogs, and little bowls of cheerios and chocolate chips. That's a tent house.
This white form behind the trees also is a tent house. Because we live in a cold climate, building a new home exposes it and the crew to extreme weather. This, in turn, causes delays. If you've ever had any work done on your home, you know what I mean.
But this home, situated on the water and boasting at least 6 acres, must have an owner who is determined to avoid delays and weather. This owner has contracted to have an enormous plastic tent erected around the entire structure of the home. A few years ago, a similar home was built on the lot next to it, with the same tent method. The kicker is that the crews on both of these homes work on continuous shifts, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Huge work lights illuminate the site and drive the neighbors batty. There are local discussions of noise and light disturbance, and the owners are being asked to take breaks during evenings, weekends, and holidays.
I'm showing this to you today because I'm nosy, I'll admit it. I am curious about who that owner might be. I'm curious about what sort of life must produce the need or desire or right to build in such a way. I drive past this tented project from time to time, and each time I marvel at the the size of this project. It seems a certain kind of hubris to building such an ostentatious home so ostentatiously, especially in these times. I wish the owner well, but I wonder if building a house this large will generate a happiness that fills it completely...
