I am a fan of the writing of William Paul Winchester and his book A Very Small Farm.

In it, he writes:

Coming home to the farm was itself the end of a journey.  What is “home” if not that place?  And the best evidence of having arrived is that I do not feel compelled to always be leaving.

–Which is just as well.  it is impossible for a small farmer to be away for more than a few hours without making the most extensive arrangements with neighbors, and then worrying.  It sounds easy enough– the instructions you’ve left for the letting the stock out in the morning, putting them up at night, for gathering the eggs and milking the cow–but there are subtleties no one could have dreamed who has not been a small farmer….

That is why people who come to the country seldom leave home.  In a nation where every year one-fifth of the population changes its address and twice a day everyone goes somewhere, this seems inconceivable.  But it is not inconceivable if you life on a small farm, and its not to be regretted.

And while I don’t have a cow to milk, nor livestock to be put in or out, I share Winchester’s passion to ‘stay put’.

All the same, I find that while building the cabin, surrounded by the dozens of unfinished tasks which have been left, purposefully, for another time, getting away has its advantages.  A day away, watching a movie, makes returning home that much sweeter.  The sunset is more vibrant, the cabin warmth more inviting, and the call of home more secure.