Chapter ７- Restoring Houses That Were Nearly Lost

From One to Six — Restoring Houses That Were Nearly Lost

What began as one house did not stay as one.

Guests returned.
They told friends.
They asked if there were other houses like this.

But there weren’t.

At the same time, more thatched houses were becoming empty.

Some stood with broken windows.
Some had collapsing walls.
Some were only weeks away from demolition.

When a thatched house loses its owner, time moves quickly.

Rain enters.
Beams weaken.
The roof begins to sink.

I felt something each time I heard the words,
“We are going to tear it down.”

It was not just wood and straw.

It was memory.

So we began restoring them — one by one.

Not quickly.
Not perfectly.

Carefully.

Some houses had been abandoned for years.
Some required structural reinforcement.
Some needed entire sections of roof replaced.

Each house had its own personality.

One felt quiet and inward.
One opened toward the river.
One carried the traces of many generations.

We did not restore them to become museums.

We restored them so people could stay.

To cook.
To talk.
To sleep.
To listen to wind and rain.

Today, six thatched houses stand here.

They are not replicas of the past.

They are living places.

And each one still carries the marks of those who built it long before us.

We are not the owners of these houses.

We are only the current caretakers.