A-Frame

My sister-in-law took me to her farm in San Fernando, a province in Cebu. For hours, I have been trying to put words on the page to describe the experience. Imagine riding shotgun, and feeling kind of drowsy, to the point where you might actually be slipping into a dream, then all of a sudden, a pointed roof like maybe a Swiss Chalet, or a Disney castle has dropped right in front of you, and magic gates are swinging open welcoming you, but then shutting behind you, because the secret of this absolute paradise is so special that it’s not for everyone. I found myself rubbing my eyes, and wondering, “Is this for real?”

My sister-in-law said she had a farm, but my idea of farming is very American, so I didn’t quite imagine what farming on an island would look like. I also knew she was building an A-frame cottage, but my only reference for A-frame buildings is an ancient A-frame in front of the grocery store that opened as a restaurant when I was a child and is now a smoke shop, I think. I was in it once when I was very small. My memory was looking up at the roof that angled into darkness. My imagination put vampire bats up there. I remember wrapping my arms around my dad’s legs. I never set foot in it again. I never really understood how a triangle could be an efficient accommodation. All my assumptions were blown away.

First off, here is an incomplete list of things that can be grown on a farm in the Philippines–bananas, limes, avocados, papaya, eggplant, lemons, dragon fruit, jack fruit, and tangerines. Second of all, a triangle house is strong. It will more than likely survive a typhoon. The structure is devised into three floors, each with an eye for comfort, esthetics, and function. Each level has its own balcony to take in the sea, the distant islands and the overreaching Pacific Ocean. Imagine a vista of all the shades of blue. I stood on the balcony and watched the sky change from periwinkle, to pink, to velvet black. I could stand there forever and be endlessly at peace with the view.

My sister-in-law asked me to help her put together a collage of photos of our Taylor family. I sifted through a small box of snapshots. I know most people use cameras more than ever, but handling photos printed on paper has a kind of magic digital photography can never capture. I picked up an old Polariod of my brother and myself. It was Christmas 1972. I was three and Kevin was two. I instantly remembered that moment. It was nighttime and we were sitting on the dining room table; my Mom’s Christmas plastic table cloth with poinsettias had a big wrinkle in it and a glass of water had spilled, running along the channels of the wrinkle. My brother was crying because he was tired and he didn’t want me touching his Playskool garage. I was reaching for the little man with the red plastic ball cap hat anyway, because it was fun to tease my brother. My mom took the photo to catalogue what a brat I was. I remembered all that in an instant.

I always think looking at old pictures will make me sad, but it never does. Putting the collage together was extra special because it highlighted how our family has grown and changed over the years. The delight of my parents’ joy in holding their grandchildren is forever captured in single shots. It’s a reminder of how much love I have been blessed with in my life.

My sister-in-law built the space with her own ingenuity and creativity. It is beautiful, expansive, impressive. and inspiring. Just like she is. It is one of the few places in my life that I have felt my soul breathe. I felt my power there: anything was possible; my words could leap from the page; color could flow from my brush; and the images in my head could be transposed to reels amplified by the silver screen. This oasis by the sea has a magic that sparked my life. I will never forget my day at the A-frame farm. I will be forever grateful for this gift.