Chapter 6 - THE WORKSHOP HOME
My property was located on the outskirts of town—an old, converted industrial carpentry workshop surrounded by a sprawling grassy yard and tall pine trees. When I bought the place three years ago, it was just an open-concept timber frame with concrete floors, a lofted bedroom space, and the smell of sawdust permanently baked into the cedar beams.
To convert it into a home for five children in less than three weeks, I had essentially lived on a ladder.
I built a massive custom low-platform triple-bunk bed system in the back corner, installed soft foam padding along the exposed brick edges, and set up a sprawling play area with thick rubber mats where the old table saws used to sit. The kitchen was tiny, but it had a massive farmhouse table I had sanded down and finished with non-toxic beeswax so the kids could draw on it with crayons without ruining the wood.
As I pulled the truck up to the gravel driveway and cut the engine, the children pressed their faces against the truck windows, staring at the strange, massive building with a mixture of awe and uncertainty.
"Is this the school?" six-year-old Leo asked, his voice echoing from the back seat as I unbuckled my belt.
"Better than a school," I said, opening my door and hopping down to the gravel. "This is our castle. And you guys are the royal guards."
I opened the back doors, unbuckling Maya first and setting her down on the grass. She immediately reached out and grabbed the hem of my jeans, refusing to let go as I unloaded the rest of the crew. Leo unclipped himself, stepping carefully out of the truck and turning around to make sure Toby’s blanket didn't drag in the dirt.
We walked up the wide wooden ramp leading to the heavy sliding barn doors of the workshop. I turned the brass key in the deadbolt, pushed the door wide open, and stepped aside.
The warm smell of cedarwood, fresh laundry, and vanilla greeted us. Sunlight poured through the massive skylights I had installed in the roof, illuminating the colorful pile of stuffed animals, the low-slung toy bins, and the custom bunk beds draped in cozy flannel quilts.
For three seconds, absolute silence hung in the room.
Then, two-year-old Sam let out an excited gasp, broke away from my side, and bolted straight toward the toy bins, his little sneakers squeaking against the polished concrete floor.
Maya followed right behind him, her eyes wide as she spotted a fuzzy teddy bear sitting on the bottom bunk.
Leo stood near the doorway, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, looking around the massive, sunlit space with a look of profound, quiet disbelief. He didn't run. He walked slowly over to the custom triple-bunk bed, reached out, and touched the smooth wooden railing.
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"We don't have to share a bed with strangers anymore?" Leo asked, his voice cracking slightly as he looked back at me over his shoulder.
"Never again," I said, walking over and resting my hand gently on his small shoulder. "This is your home, Leo. For as long as you want it."
