Building a Life, Not Just a Cottage: A Slow Living Reflection

A Cottage Build That Marked a New Beginning

It’s been a couple of months since I’ve written here — and for good reason. Since the start of the year, my world has been consumed (in the best way) by my cottage build. If you didn’t know, I’m in the middle of creating a tiny cottage on my family’s 80 acres in rural Illinois. A feat I never imagined would appear on my life timeline, yet here we are. Life has a way of upturning everything and tossing curveballs exactly when we think we’ve figured out the plot.

Last fall, I made the decision to uproot my life, and by early winter the pieces finally aligned: I purchased the cottage shell and began the build in earnest. As the days pass and I learn each step of the construction process — from framing to insulation to the small, satisfying details — I’m watching my vision take shape in real time. And somewhere along the way, something became clear:

This is more than a house build.

It’s the redrawing of what life means for me.

Rooted on Ancestral Land: Building With Memory and Meaning

Let me take you back to the moment this all began — the spark that pulled me home.

Several years ago, I came back to Illinois from the West Coast for Christmas. We walked the land as a family, wandering along the creek, watching dried wildflowers scatter their seeds into the winter wind. Something shifted in me that day. A quiet knowing crept into my heart:

I was meant to return.

I felt a connection awaken — not just to the land itself, but to the possibility of tending it, restoring it, learning from it. I wanted to bring back the native species that had been lost to time. I wanted to understand the ecology of this place the way I once studied ecosystems in school.

During my undergraduate years, I researched the role microbes play in atmospheric health, and ever since, I’ve been fascinated by the dynamic relationships that sustain life on this planet. That winter walk made something undeniable: this was the ecosystem I was craving connection with.

That night, I wrote in my journal about everything I wanted to study here — the freshwater stream ecology, the remnants of tallgrass prairie, the potential for reforesting. For years, the idea grew quietly in my heart until it overflowed. I sold everything I owned and moved 2,000 miles back to Illinois.

And then there was the barn.

During that same visit, a nearly 200‑year‑old barn on our property collapsed. My parents spent months salvaging the wood and stone, not knowing that years later those materials would become the foundation of my cottage — literally and symbolically. A home built from the bones of my lineage.

Designing a Magical, Textural Cottage

Once I moved back to Illinois, the true building began. For months, I worked with the old barnwood my parents salvaged — sorting, sanding, sealing, and coaxing years of memory into a new form. I knew I wanted this wood to live again inside my home, but I didn’t yet know how. Then one day, my dad had an epiphany: the boards were too old to be used as flooring… but what about a ceiling?

The moment he said it, I felt the click of truth.

Of course it was meant to be the ceiling.

I spent weeks trimming each board, refining a layout that honored the unique grain and weathering of every piece. Then came the installation — just two ladders, two old drills, and a lot of determination (and sore arms). My dad and I worked side by side until the final board was in place. And when we stepped back, breathless and dusty, I knew: this ceiling was the soul of the cottage.

That project opened something in me. It inspired me to keep seeking reclaimed materials, to let the cottage be built from stories rather than sterile newness. I began scouring thrift stores, antique markets, and salvage yards for pieces with history. On one of those adventures, I found a reclaim shop filled with materials from old home demos — and there, tucked on a shelf, was the perfect tile for my bathroom. A soft, dreamy shade of pink. My favorite color.

It takes more effort to work with old materials. Hours scraping glue from the backs of tiles, coaxing life back into weathered wood. But every minute reminds me of a truth I learned long ago: the best things in life are slow to come, and they ask for devotion.

Why Slow, Intentional Living Shapes Every Choice I Make

Slow living isn’t just an aesthetic for me. It’s a way of moving through the world with presence, reverence, and intention. Building this cottage has become a mirror for that philosophy. Every reclaimed board, every salvaged tile, every hour spent restoring instead of replacing has taught me to honor the pace of things.

There’s a rhythm to slow living that feels like truth:

the willingness to take the long way,

to choose meaning over convenience,

to let things unfold instead of forcing them.

This cottage is teaching me that a home, like a life, is crafted through small, deliberate choices. Through patience. Through the courage to build something that reflects who you are becoming, not who you were.

And in that way, this build isn’t just about walls and ceilings.

It’s about alignment.

It’s about returning to myself.

It’s about creating a life that feels like mine.

Coming Full Circle

When I first stepped onto this land years ago, I felt something awaken, a quiet pull I couldn’t yet name. Now, standing beneath a ceiling built from the bones of a 200‑year‑old barn, I understand it.

I wasn’t just meant to return.

I was meant to rebuild: myself, my home, my way of living.

This cottage is the beginning of that rebuilding. A slow, intentional, deeply personal return to the life I’ve been craving. And I can’t wait to keep sharing the journey with you.

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