Windsor Cottage Chronicles

When we bought our lake cottage, we were living in England — happily straddling life as both American and British subjects. This was the dual-citizenship version of having your cake and eating it too. Windsor Castle was an easy drive, and we found ourselves close by every week or two. So when Hubbie hung a sign on our New Hampshire abode that read Windsor Cottage ,  how many of you assumed we were hopelessly nostalgic for England — or even angling for a royal connection? Go ahead, ponder that. The history of our sliver of lake land begins long ago. Native Americans first inhabited Lake Soo-Nipi  or "Wild Goose Waters". Then, European settlers — mine among them (maybe yours too?) — arrived, saw the land, drew up deeds, and declared ownership. 

Lake Sunapee has always felt like a spiritual place—with its shimmering waters, the echoing calls of loons, eagles soaring overhead, and the granite ski slopes standing sentinel to the south. Each season brings its own magic, but autumn, with its riot of color and morning mist, feels especially sacred. We’ve broken a bit of that silence with construction, trading tranquility for the steady rumble of progress. Walkers and joggers stand still and rubberneck in disbelief because, truthfully, the excavation process is pretty amazing. If you’ve ever tried to build a sandcastle using only a teaspoon, congratulations—you now understand our excavation method at Windsor Cottage. Our builders have been working heroically this week, but with such complicated access and not a lot of room to maneuver,  the biggest piece of machinery that can really do the job is little Doug the Excavator. He’s adorable—like a Tonka truck that grew up and got a union card. Picture this: Dan the Man, laser-focus...

We’ve been drumming our fingers for four days. Equipment woes and a three-day weekend have slowed things down. Our builders spent much of Friday wrestling with machinery, and over the long weekend, Doug, the Excavator, and his newly repaired sidekick, Doug-Less , the Front Loader, sat alone on our plot as a Nor'Easter blew through, dropping the temperature into the low 40s.      The mornings are colder now, and everyone I talk to has a story that starts with “... poured the foundation too late in the season” and ends with "cracked foundation.”  I briefly consider the worst possibility if we continue to delay. Big projects have their ups and downs, and I’ll admit, I’m in a bit of a down spiral right now. But then I consider that our builders are good people — they care deeply about their craft, and when the machines roll again, I know they’ll be all in. They take a lot of pride in their work and experience. Even so, from my perspective, every quiet day feels...

Wednesday called for the big guns! The challenge was two-fold: the old foundation had to go, and the space to work in was tighter than a toddler’s fist around a cookie. Enter Doug the Excavator —endearingly named by my family and now a full-fledged member of the crew. Doug is small but mighty, the bulldog of excavators, snorting and scooping his way through layers of dirt and rubble. The only catch? That little bucket means a lot of trips to the trailer-dumpster. So, out went our makeshift dumpster (in a trailer that would fit the space), and in rolled an additional piece of construction equipment with two serious attachments: one a mini concrete drill bit to chew through the old foundation, and the other a big digger bucket ready to carry the spoils. Doug had a rental friend to work with.   Out with the makeshift dumpster, In with the concrete bit By mid-afternoon, the air was buzzing with the clang of metal, the rattle of rock, and Doug’s steady growl. By day’s end...

After a long weekend (with weather too perfect to be productive), the crew rolled in bright and early Monday, fueled by muscle, momentum, and maybe sheer stubbornness. Their mission: remove what remained of the old ell. It was a long, hard day, and by late afternoon everyone was moving a little slower. One of the guys had caught some kind of early seasonal virus, but true to the brawn nature of building, he was here—sniffling, sweating, and working it off. By the end of the day, the ell was gone, the air was full of sawdust and satisfaction, and everyone had earned their rest.  The dollhouse foundation Later, I stood back and looked at what was left. How is it that an empty foundation looks like a dollhouse? How did we ever have an office and gym in that tiny space? And up above—our den, with its wraparound couch, game table, television, and elaborate fireplace—it all felt so much bigger when it was full of life. Tuesday dawned quieter, but only for a moment. The crew soon discove...

Prepping for Demo: Goodbye Windows Why is it that watching a construction site is so mesmerizing? Little kids press their noses to the fence, and apparently I do too. It’s like fireworks—loud, colorful, and slightly dangerous—but in this case, the sparks are flying because someone’s wielding an electric saw instead of a Roman candle. The last few days have been all about demolition. We’re saying goodbye to the little ell on the back of the main house, soon to be replaced by a bigger, bolder ell that will rise three stories high. Out with the old, in with the structurally sound. Still, that small ell held so many memories: Christmas mornings with family crammed in, our little cocker spaniel’s favorite corner for toy-chewing and miniball-fetch, and even our epic binge of Jackson Lamb and his misfit agents in S low Horses —still one of my favorite TV moments. Watching it go was a reminder that remodeling isn’t just about walls and beams; it’s about tearing down pieces of yo...