MOXHAVENa haven for the moxie
The timber frame at night under a haloed moon
the Workshop

The Build

Remember when this was just dirt? About three years, a treated-wood foundation and a lot of splinters.

~3 yearsbuilt by hand, together
0 concretea treated-wood foundation
1 supervisorfour legs, many naps
  1. The dog asleep on the dirt mound at the build site
    I

    Just dirt

    A field, a whole lot of sky, and our very serious site supervisor. She has not lifted a single log.

  2. Floor joists laid out at sunset
    II

    No concrete. Really.

    We built on a treated-wood foundation, so there were no footings to pour. Just boards, gravel and a lot of opinions.

  3. Rachel marking a beam with a carpenter pencil and speed square
    III

    Measure twice

    Pencil behind the ear, speed square in hand. The kids learned it right alongside us.

  4. Looking out at the valley through a window opening in the log wall
    IV

    The walls go up

    The first time we stood inside a window and saw the valley, it stopped being a project.

  5. Family on ladders and a lift building our biggest dormer, the valley beyond
    V

    Raising the roof.

    This was the intense part. Ladders, a lift, harnesses, and a whole lot of people we love, all twisting one big log into place while the rest of us held our breath. Every beam up there has family and friends’ fingerprints on it.

  6. Inside the timber frame with ladders and scaffolding
    VI

    Three years of weekends

    About three years, together. Splinters included.

  7. The rope swing hanging in the finished great room
    VII

    And then, a swing

    Adults are just children waiting for permission.

  8. Our finished log home at night, porch lights glowing
    VIII

    Home

    Every log has fingerprints on it. Ours, our kids’, and a whole lot of friends’.

A candlelit table from above, with an olive wood bowl, a charcuterie board and votives
Letters from the porch

Pull up a chair.

Every so often I’ll write you a letter. A recipe, a tradition we’re trying, whatever magic (or glorious mess) happened at our table that week. No lectures, nothing salesy, just a friend waving from the porch.