Peace, a fireplace, books, silence … Before this was seen as one philistinism. Now these are dreams of a lost paradise.
Erich Maria Remarque
After we’ve stuffed ourselves, we scatter around the living room, falling into a comfortable quiet.
The living room is a majestic place – I mean, it is massive – with vaulted log ceilings and old wood floors covered in wide woven rugs. Along one long wall, the fire crackles and snaps, heating the room to just below too warm. It’s wood from town and nothing smells like it. I want to find a candle of this, incense, room spray. I want every living room in every house I live in for the rest of time to smell like the Hollis cabin does on December evenings.
The hearth is expansive; when we were about seven, our chore was sweeping out the fireplace at the end of the holiday, Theo and I could almost stand up inside it. The flames actually roar to life. Even once they mellow into a rumbling, crackling simmer, the blaze still feels like a living, breathing creature in here with us.
Christina Lauren
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