One Woman’s Enlightened Vision of Homecrafting

Yes, to my surprise, housecraft is a word.

How many of us think that house keeping is drudgery, that in pursuit of perfection we’ve subscribed to a lifelong task of Swiffering, vacuuming, dusting, and dish washing?  Keeping house, I learned on recent vacation to Tapawingo, New York’s storied Adirondack getaway, is a lot different than keeping home.

Keeping House is the acceptance of culturally codified rules, beliefs and myths that for generations have informed the domestic ideal.  Followers of “keeping house” pray to the Windex Wizard and pay deference to the Clorox King and his lady the Queen of Clean.  They see self reflection in the image of a spotless stove and believe that material goods will bestow years of prosperity and happiness.

Keeping Home is the throwing away of this false religion.  It’s the empowering notion that the home is something that each of us creates as a reflection of individual desires and needs.  Home is not a commodity.

Tapawingo’s open air kitchen, all designed and crafted by her and her late husband

Tapawingo is a place of lore so seemingly untrue that you may not believe it exists.  It is a family home that from the 1940s on gradually pieced into a compound, hand built by Margo Fish (at right) and her late husband Howard. Howard proposed to 15-year-old Margo on Tapawingo’s porch;  A half century later, he unexpectedly passed while on a walk in the woods near their cherished place.  Margo, full of life, zest, sadness, love and memories carries Tapawingo’s torch into the future.

Margo also carries all sorts of things to fashion Tapawingo into the famed magical cabin-manor it has become.  During the 4-day stay, Margo managed the affairs of her home with vigor, yet effortless mastery.  At any moment, I would catch her with broom in hand, brushing away the leaves that fell from nature’s trees; plucking a fern on a whim for replanting; carrying petrified birch to line Tapawingo’s winding paths; and, straining a boiling pot of baby red potatoes for that evening’s impromptu dinner party of 20.

A Reflection on the Meaning of Home

On the last evening while I sat looking into the mirror that is Lake Placid on another of Margo’s hand creations, a rough-hewn twig and wood porch chair (she taught herself how to make all the furniture at Tapawingo), my thoughts turned to my own home.  Since our wedding a year ago, I have been grappling with the concept of housecraft and whether I could find empowerment and self expression in this venue. Do you ask the same?

Margo’s handcrafted furniture, deck railings overlooking Lake Placid (above) and twig hutch for silver and glass

After Margo’s Tapawingo, it became crystal clear:  we don’t find ourselves in a home, we are the home.  It’s subtle, I know.  By shaping, molding, and working raw materials into beautiful, utilitarian structures and furnishings like Margo, we debunk the myth that the home is something we are powerless to create.  By not buying into commodity culture or praying to false domestic gods, Margo evolves home craft into a transcendent, self-empowering, spiritual practice.

Home is the extension of the self, carrying with it history, integrity, morals, values, and dreams. I feel less afraid of my home and more at peace with the potential of crafting my own version. Unfortunately, I’m just afraid I won’t be able to craft one with as much grace and sprezzatura as Margo.

What do you think?  Are their differences between house and home?  Is the practice of homecrafting empowering or destructive to women?  If you know of any woman or man who has a unique take on housecraft, share here.