JULY 23, 2021 – By last summer’s end, gnome homes had proliferated throughout our neighborhood. Captivated by these whimsically works, I joined the fad. I made two gnome homes and started a third. Winter halted construction, but while my building materials—natural “finds” from our woods—were in hibernation under the Red Cabin porch, I “built” gnome homes in my sketchbook.
For two weeks I’ve worked furiously on my largest and most elaborate gnome home to date. It became a figurative Buddhist temple; a place for respite from the madness that prevails in so many corners of life in 2021.
I follow three rules of construction. FIRST: No adhesives or special compounds as fasteners; only nails, screws, and wire. SECOND: No miniature doors, windows, furniture, signage, or occupants (gnomes!) manufactured in China or Vietnam, shipped to the U.S., and sold at some hobby store; all elements and accessories must be hand-made—by me. THIRD: All design ideas must originate in my imagination, not someone else’s.
A fourth, over-arching rule—more of a guiding principle—is, “Every design or structural challenge has a solution; you simply need to discover it.” This tenet embodies the Zen of gnome-home building.
An example of a problem opening a window is this . . .
On the recently completed home I’d wanted to include an odd-shaped window opening. I lacked the necessary tool—a small keyhole saw—so I visited my favorite, family-owned hardware store. They carried replacement blades but no handles, which would have to be ordered, but I was headed straight for the Red Cabin and four days of gnome-home building. I’d have to find an alternative to the keyhole saw . . . or, I thought . . . an alternative to the odd-shaped window opening itself.
Just past Turtle Lake, the halfway point along my route, I hatched an idea. Instead of the window opening with an overlay of birchbark into which I’d cut a matching opening, I’d draw an interior scene with a gnome in the foreground peering out the window. I’d fashion it to the exact dimensions of my intended window opening, insert it behind the birchbark, line it up with a corresponding cut-out of the bark, and staple it into place.
My gnome-home building project took a side-trip into gnome-drawing land. There I traveled for the better part of an afternoon, visiting multiple possibilities. Equipped with our granddaughter’s super-duper case of colors/markers/pencils, I felt like a five-year-old in candyland.
Three days later I told Illiana, “Close your eyes!”—as she tells us when presenting her own arts and crafts. I then placed the finished gnome-home onto a porch table. “Okay, you can open them!”
She rewarded me with a, “Wow, Grandpa!” I turned the gnome-home to reveal my special artwork—the gnome looking out the window, his well-stocked library behind him. She moved her nose close to the gnome’s. Stretching out her words like taffy to my ears, she said, “I like it!”
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
