When I was in the last lurch of finishing up my bachelor's degree and trying to answer the immense, looming question of what do you want to do when you grow up, I had a fantasy. I'd buy a small cabin near water that either rushed or swirled calmly. The cabin's walls and floors would be made of unfinished wood. There would be a small, cozy loft for sleeping, and each night I'd fall asleep there, awash in the peaceful glee of simplicity, a modern day, grown, Heidi.
I would hang lanterns everywhere, the soft flames casting warm glowing orbs on the wood. Wildflowers would grow outside; there would be no lawn to upkeep.