I live in a yurt.

Our yurt and a rainbow.

I live in a yurt. At 24 feet in diameter, it is large as yurts go. I live here with my boyfriend and my tiny dog, Molly. We also get visits from Stella (medium dog) and Grushenka (large, bear-like German shepherd). Four extremely handsome roosters and five sweet hens wake us up every morning with their crowing and cackling (more about them later). My boyfriend and I are students of psychology in our first year of grad school. I've lived in the yurt for about nine months now and he has been here even longer, when he was not in India.

Telling the story of yurt life on the internet will, I hope, keep me accountable for keeping the yurt nice, and allow me to show off all the beauty and specialness of living here using photos and words. Oh, and I will share the difficulties--can't forget the difficulties.

I love the yurt. But it challenges me to discover what really makes a place a home, rather than a temporary dwelling. Is home a place where I have enough closet space? Is home a place where I can finally unpack my full array of kitchen gadgetry and spiceage? Can a home be found in a yurt, where mice invade, I wash the dishes with a hose, and all my routines are turned on their heads?

I've mentally resisted the forced simplicity of yurt life for so long. I feel I want to surrender with a confession--I live in a wooden dome, and it is profoundly amazing and often frustrating. I do love it here, and I want to create a record of my brief time in this poetic, romantic home. The coyotes just started their howling and it is time for me to get back to my homework.