You’d think large expanses of glass are ideal in the hills where there is such magnificence to see. ‘Look at the view!’ we croon, ecstatic. When I found Sage Cottage I gasped with joy at the sight of rolling hills and craggy peaks through the (large) windows. The thick brown silken looking curtains the house came with seemed unnecessary. But I couldn’t change them immediately. Instead of acres and acres of fabric, I needed a gas stove (which the house didn’t come with), beds and other such equipment for daily life. Meals and sleep trumped aesthetics. This holding off on getting new curtains turned out to be fortunate.
In the summer, the sky lightens at 4:30 am and by 6 it feels like noon in the bedroom. It isn’t as though, in those early days, I could turn my back on the view and get a full night’s sleep. Once awake I had to leap out of bed to identify which bird was singing, check if there were clouds and whether the Hydrangea looked bluer in the muted dawn light. The brown curtains helped keep out some of the light and possibly allowed me to sleep a little longer. But I could still hear and if the Starling began warbling I would be up. Excited to drink tea in the garden and breathe fresh air.
In the winter I sleep a little longer, the garden is flooded with sunlight only from 8 on. Well, on sunny days. Of late it’s been flooded with rain. I even saw some hail today. So from 8 on, I’m just as enthusiastic about the garden as in the summer.
But after the sun glides over the hill towards the west everything becomes a struggle. A struggle against climbing into bed by 4:00 pm. I stave off the longing for a hot water bottle too, not wanting to be a wimp. I think of the Russians and turn away from the afternoon hot water bottle. Before you suggest I replace my hot water bottle with an electric blanket please listen.
Ever since I moved up here, there’s been a good deal of unsolicited advice regarding electric blankets along the lines of ‘You must get an electric blanket if you’re going to stay here in the winter’ (which sounds suspiciously more like an order than a suggestion).
Let me come straight out with it. I don’t trust them. Electric blankets. I have a healthy respect for electricity because I know how lethal it can be. My father was an electrical engineer and warned us unfailingly against complacency. Since I was urged (sometimes commanded) so often I did explore electric blankets, feeling as brave as a bungee jumper. Explore here means to check prices and reviews. You won’t believe what the reviews of the first one said.
‘Bought 2, Both Don’t Work!!!’ Also, ‘
Very poor quality. Regulator got burned on the first day. Money waste.’
Another review with an image of a scorched blanket says indignantly,
‘I’m just lucky nothing happened to me while using this. It got burnt, and burned my bedsheet n pillow along with it.’
Reviewers also say it curls up - and as we know, electric blankets have to be kept flat. Obviously, the wires will short circuit if it curls up.
My adventurous bungee jumping bravado gave way to natural caution. I ran to the drawer with five hot water bottles (for guests, people, for guests - I don’t use all five), extracted my favourite blue and filled it with hot water vowing never to even look flirtatiously at an electric blanket again.
Back to the windows. I think often of the people from the plains who complain about ‘hill architects’ who refuse to build large windows. Contemptuous of the ‘small windows’ most hill houses have, they fight tooth and nail with the local contractors, finally importing a city architect who understands their needs.
The women who built the house I bought won the battle. But I think they lost the war. Now, as I shiver in front of my big windows, holding out from drawing the curtains before sunset I laugh. We were the ones to be derided. The view isn’t going anywhere. You can step out on your porch and enjoy it. Or look through your small window at it. Don’t small windows keep the house warmer? Miles of glass need to be double glazed when you’re directly in the line of the icy winds off the Himalayas. Maybe the hill architects know a thing or two.
Anyway, I didn’t build the house or I would have done more research and it really is beautiful exactly as it is. I have to dress warmer, light the fire (more on that by and by) and get into bed earlier. Maybe I need velvet curtains. People have lived in castles and forts and monasteries on the Tibetan Plateau, no less. They draped the walls with tapestries and thick fabric, didn’t they? But those castles and monasteries had tiny windows (how backward) and the glasshouses popularised by Hollywood are probably more feasible in the mild Californian climate.
But despite the chilblains, I wouldn’t want to change anything about my cottage. Winter always turns to Spring and in June, when I reread this newsletter I will be tempted to delete it.
Photo by Ashwini Chaudhary on Unsplash
Please mail me your solutions for winter warmth. They must be budget-friendly so don’t suggest double glazing, interior heating, rebuilding the windows or moving back to the plains. None of those is acceptable.