The Hibernation Home - House and Garden 1967


While on a little road trip last weekend I came to the conclusion that bears have SADS - hence hibernation. Humans need to take heed from our animal friends. Really, would you not rather sleep, chill out, snuggle, and stay out of the gross weather from November until March instead of forcing yourself up out of bed to go to work in the dark and come home in the dark only to be surrounded with nothing but artificial light? I know I most definitely would.

I have asked my GP for a doctor's note/green card/prescription to move south from November - March (I figure the final three months of Vancouver rain from March to June will be ok) and although she didn't say no, she did give me a prescription for a Happy Light and told me to take up indoor activities like the climbing gym (how 1994), lunching with friends ($$$), and movies (sorry, bed bug paranoia).

The days are getting shorter. If you have SADS, like me, that looming darkness is slowly rising on the horizon of your mind and The Cask of Amontillado will soon start to take on its own personal meaning. But alas, I have a new idea! I am going to approach my GP with an alternative to the green card - the Pacific Northwest Hibernation House. A prescription for a home! I don't think my insurance plan will have a problem purchasing a snippet of land and building this hinged panel glass house for me, after all, it's five times smaller than the average home here in West Van. I've already researched where I can source most of the materials so that what I use will be mostly recycled. The flip up hinged panels, that surround the entire structure, are paramount to human hibernation. Upon the light of the new season, myself, and my home, will gradually unfold and welcome back the Technicolor Springtime of the moody land I love.

Deep Cove

For more reading on moody Cascadia (the Pacific Northwest) I recommend; Cascadia: The Elusive Utopia.

home image: House and Garden Building Guide, Spring-Summer 1967