A hand made house

The building of houses has, in our culture at least, been well and truly handed over to the 'experts'. Most of us would see it as a project too big, too technical and with too many opportunities for spectacular failure to tackle ourselves. So we direct our desire, or instinct even, to create a comfortable shelter, shaped around the needs of ourselves and our families, to the interiors of our houses. But it's interesting to think about what kind of house we would build if we had to, if it was down to us to make good use of the materials that we could scrounge, buy or barter in the few miles around us. What kinds of shapes and structures would we use? Would size be as important as facing the winter sun, good ventilation in summer, a human scale, easy to paint?

When I was a teenager I was fascinated by the architecture of Hundertwasser, who allowed the very human and very particular needs of the ultimate occupants to guide his design, rather than fashion, or the technical constraints of modern building materials. His buildings sought to reconnect people with their natural surroundings, as that was, for Hundertwasser, a essential condition of human flourishing. He also believed that structures, not just the decorated interior, should be idiosyncratic, personal, moulded from and around its inhabitants. I absolutely agree with him. I know from personal experience that the structures around us can shape our mood, our attitudes towards ourselves and others, our actions and even our aspirations. After living in the heart of Sydney for eleven years, it was the realisation of this that made it impossible to stay, and that indirectly led to my new home on this farm.

When I walk around here and see the myriad little shelters that the creatures around us have created - the wombat condominiums in the back dam wall, the swallows' elegant little mud nests, the cosy little rat bush rat tunnels lined with our passionfruit leaves - I do wonder about our stark and square little house on the prow of the hill, buffeted by winds from every direction and visible for miles around. Much of our garden planning has been trying to mitigate the effects its construction and siting - we freeze in winter and cook in summer. This house was a quick rebuild, after a disastrous house fire in the 1940's, started by a rogue coal after the ashes from the stove were emptied under the house, so I understand that speed no doubt governed all decisions here. But perhaps if Hundertwasser had wandered into town he would have retained the hilltop site, as resting the gaze on a distant horizon is the perfect mode of contemplation, but dug us into the ground for warmth, covered our roof with grass and spring flowers for good cheer, and built us a front step that caught the winter sun and of just the right height to have our bum in the kitchen but our feet firmly planted on the ground. Maybe it would look a little like this amazing 'low impact woodland home' - built in three months by two people with no previous building experience, out of local materials, for the princely sum of three thousand pounds. Check out the link for their wonderful and inspiring story (all photos in this post are of this house, images used with permission). If we ever find ourselves in need of shelter one day, perhaps we'll try and see what we can do with our own hands, and our own Hobbit-y aspirations.