Posted on Jul 19, 2009 in Eliza Brownhome | 0 comments

Living in a metal house gives you an interesting perspective on the weather. In the winter it’s like living in a tin can. In the summer it’s like an oven. We’re hoping to build our next house out of straw bales – the complete opposite end of the spectrum when it comes to R-value.

The view at The Cabin

The view at The Cabin

When we first bought the bus, we paid $80 a month to park it in a field in South Vancouver between a gorgeous market garden and the Hari Krishna temple. The narrow strip of land was essentially a rutted mud pit in the winter. The row of trees bordering the temple side of the property provided screening but not a lick of shade in the summer. The sun would beat down on us and we would watch the chinese ladies harvesting veggies next door wistfully, jealous of their pointed straw hats.

Of course, we worked during the week and spent our evenings in our East Van bachelor suite (with off-suite bath). Summer weekends we spent at The Cabin. We would have a cooler packed and a bag of clothes ready so that we could head out straight after work on Fridays. Arriving around 6:00 pm, the sun would still be high in the sky. Poor Eliza had sat all week, windows closed, doors locked, sun beating mercilously down and nowhere to get away. No shade. No breeze.

Aaron would boost me up so that I could unlock the padlock on the Emergency door at the back and get in. The air inside was boiling, stagnant and oppressive. The trip to the front of the bus only took seconds but felt like an eternity, gasping for breath and sweating profusely by the time I clambored over all our junk and made it to the driver’s seat to untie the door handle (high tech security) and throw open the door for Aaron.

I don’t miss that trip from back door to front one bit.

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