Houses and Vermin

I’m just going to share a random line from Thoreau that I find quite funny. I mean, it isn’t funny in the sense that it was intended to be humorous – it’s just Thoreau being Thoreau, you know? I think it’s the way he conveys his thoughts that I often find humorous and satirical. He always starts off pretty decently, and just when you start to synchronize with him, he suddenly does something that makes you stop in your tracks. I don’t know – it’s as if he drops a rock on your path, and you stumble. I don’t think it’s premeditated either; it’s just the way he is.

In his essay Visitors, Thoreau describes how he welcomed society in his tiny house in the woods. He’s no hermit – he actually enjoyed having guests. He shared his thoughts about large houses along with a snide remark about their inhabitants, he writes:

“Many of our houses, both public and private, with their almost innumerable apartments, their huge halls and their cellars for the storage of wines and other munitions of peace, appear to me extravagantly large for their inhabitants. They are so vast and magnificent that the latter seem to be only vermin which infest them.”

Vermin which infest them – this made me chuckle. I don’t know, the word choice seems provocative and a bit harsh. But don’t get me wrong; I love it. That’s exactly why I admire this guy; he comes off as raw, rustic, and utterly unconcerned with how he’s perceived by readers. He goes on his way occasionally and unapologetically leaving rhetorical landmines as if it’s a completely normal.

Well, thinking about it, I never really dreamed of owning a huge dwelling place, because it would feel like the house owns me and not the other way around. I’d feel like a visitor rather than the owner. I want to be familiar with every nook and cranny, as if they were the back of my hand, instead of feeling like a foreigner in some corners of my own house.

Even if I had the money, I would still prefer a small space. I want to create a home filled with life – fingerprints, a bit of disorder, the presence of little scraps and earthly matters, not the absence of them. I want every corner to be utilized, and not just sitting there looking pretty all the time.

I don’t want too many appliances either – just the basic ones. I do not want to feel dominated by cold, sterile, steel machines. I prefer a semi-primitive style but without sacrificing efficiency. I just don’t want them to do life for me; I want to be the one doing life, not them.

I’d love to bring that same energy outdoors, too – to be surrounded by nature as much as possible. In Walden, in the chapter Where I Lived and What I Lived For, Thoreau quotes the Harivansa: An abode without birds is like meat without seasoning. While my area doesn’t have much variety in bird sounds, as crows dominate the soundscape, I’d still appreciate having them around and the gothic atmosphere their cawing creates. I think it’s a reminder that nature isn’t always serene but alive and untamed – something to be lived with.

And this, for me, is what makes up a home: a place meant to settle into, not one we are inclined to leave.

(photo is mine)