Interesting that I am relinquishing my house as I am trying to finish my book about a character, Worth Browning, who is losing his home. Granted, Worth -- a builder who has got in too deep and is now watching his fledgling development, New Camelot, implode -- doesn't have much of a choice in the matter, whereas Erin and I have left our home willingly, even enthusiastically. Yet feelings get stirred up. "Home" has always been a powerful word for me, so it's not surprising that it happens to be the theme (along with "family") of my first novel. So it is with a tinge of sadness that we bid adieu to our humble mountain home in Ashland for several months.

Our house, hidden amongst the trees

Worth, from "Under One Roof":

Fool that I am, building homes for me has never been primarily a moneymaking proposition. Since I first picked up a hammer, it’s been my one great passion in life. That’s why I arrive well before the excavators on purpose, so I can walk the perimeter of this future home, pausing occasionally to take a sip of coffee or to refer to the blueprints. Tramping from one stake to the next, my ritual is to make physical contact with every one, reaching down to touch them with my hand or gently nudging them with the toe of my boot. Soon, as the sun begins to rise, the excavators appear, their diesel trucks chugging as they unload the big cat and hulking backhoe off the flatbed and, just like that, the property is theirs now. My sacred moment is over. Inevitably, a great sadness washes over me. For the next several months, this lot will be all about industry. There will be much noise and aggravation; there will be mountains of mud and myriad disasters; there will be problems, shouting matches and sometimes tears; there will be hurdles to leap over and hoops to jump through; there will be surprises, mostly bad ones; there will be major headaches and minor victories; and, eventually, as the house creaks and groans skyward – its walls all firmly in place and the roof finally nestled on top – the water and sewer will be connected, the electricity powered up and the heating system switched on. Then, like Frankenstein, my creation will lurch to life and there will be a home for a family to live in. I will turn over the keys to the homeowner, which is the second saddest moment for me, because it means that this lumbering beast that has been an obsession of mine for a year or longer will become a stranger me, will no longer welcome me inside. Now, I will ring the doorbell and patiently stand there on the spiffy doormat with the label still attached, scrutinizing the paint job and miters as I await the usurpers.