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We woke up to a most unsettling discovery this morning: it was 52 degrees INSIDE THE COTTAGEI
Not outside. Not “brisk mountain air, how charming.” Inside. Where civilized humans are meant to live.
We had noticed a suspicious chill before bed, but never suspected the thermostat. So we did what any reasonable people do—we slapped on the winter duvet, burrowed down, and fell into a warm, weighted, blissful sleep that felt like being gently hugged by a well-insulated bear.
Morning, however, had other plans.
I woke to the unmistakable sensation of a cold face. It was the same cold you get after a winter walk when your cheeks feel like they’ve been cryogenically preserved. When I bravely threw back the covers, the cold rushed in like it had been waiting all night for permission. It seeped straight through my heavyweight pajamas (which clearly lied about their capabilities), and when my feet hit the floor, they immediately transformed into two artisanal blocks of ice.
Somewhere between teeth chattering and questioning my pioneer ancestors, Willie went into full Fixer of All Things Mechanical mode. In his pre-retirement life, much of his work involved diagnosing machines, circuit boards, mysterious beeping objects, and projects that always—always—required a “quick run to the supply store.” This morning was no different.
So now, as I sit snug and smug in the warmth of my barn office, Willie has departed on a noble quest for parts, pieces, and whatever magical object convinces a heating system to remember its purpose. I have complete faith that within a few hours, the cottage will once again return to its proper state: warm, cozy, and no longer auditioning for life as a walk-in refrigerator.
Until then, I’ll be over here—thawing out, drinking something hot, and reminding myself that this is all part of the Two Rocker Ridge experience of rustic charm, modern comforts, and the occasional morning where you briefly consider chiseling coffee out of a mug with a spoon.