When introduced to new experiences, descriptions, and information the mind pulls memories to fill the gaps of the unknown. When Isabel first mentioned her home, my mind immediately drew from the memories I made growing up in suburban Palm Springs, and what my home was like. I grew up in a residential neighborhood that was home to my parents since they were born. In fact, every major life event outside of their college graduation happened within a one-mile radius of the house I grew up in. My parents, my sister, and I were all born at Desert Hospital; the childhood home of each parent was about a half-mile in opposite directions of my bedroom; they went to the same elementary school, middle school, and high school all within one mile of that property; they were wed to each other in the church down the street; it goes on…

I lead with this because, like many, I could not contextualize life growing up in a barn. I had never really seen a barn growing up in southern California, except from a car on the freeways.

“So, like, did you sleep in the stables?” I asked humorously, doubting this barn claim.

“YES!” she yelled back, hinting at the fact that this was often asked of her. “And our kitchen was the bullpen!” Now grinning, daring me to doubt her.

Of course, it was all true and no matter how hard I tried to contextualize her experiences with mine, my happy little home in suburban Palm Springs was simply not helping. The pictures of the place are undeniably stunning. This ‘barn’ looks nothing like a barn I’ve ever seen. From all angles, in all seasons, and in any type of weather, this home does not take a bad photo. It’s the type of house that begs the question: Is this real life?

It is, and it was for Isabel and her three siblings. It’s so easy to get swept up in the size, grandiosity, and bewilderment of a home such as this. But to understand it takes time. It’s not my place to attempt to describe what is needed in order to understand it, so I’m not going to do that. But it gave me a perspective of Isabel that I didn’t think I needed. She describes the house as “magical, like something out of a fairy tale” because it is.

The second story is primarily made up of one large, open room. There are adjacent bedrooms, but they pale in comparison to this room. For context, it became a concert venue for our wedding celebration: a stage with an eight-person band; a sound-system; a bar area; a dance floor, and still plenty of room for 60-70 people to comfortably interact. This room is home to one of the best nights of my life, but home to so many of the best days/nights of her life. This room is magic because it was intended to be this way.

The intent of this room was to be a place where Isabel and her three siblings could chase their curiosities, learn to curate their interests, and grow from their mistakes. There’s evidence of a competitive spirit that honed these four kids into collegiate athletes. There’s the collection of paintings, sculptures, and drawings (and not to mention Isabel signatures under every table, chair, and counter) highlighting an expressiveness and creativity in each sib. And books! Holy shit, so many books! Shelf-space be damned! Even stacks of them! It’s intimidating, but it’s also easier to see why Isabel describes the house as a fairy-tale.

This room, this barn, this home is a blank slate to create the memories to fill the gaps of the unknown. It fostered an imagination and a determination in Isabel that’s unrivaled. No matter how frustrating a problem can be, she either powers through or creates a solution. Her ideas are endless and she has the confidence to say “fuck it, let’s move to an island” and truly mean it. For this barn, I am grateful.

My wife grew up in a barn, it was a unique experience and one that we hope to recreate.