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The lifetime joys of turning a piece of land into a home

When I was a kid my family bought a rundown piece of land in the countryside. It was a time of great economic uncertainty. So, to safeguard the savings they had, our parents chose to invest them in a terrain that, having remained unclaimed by its owner for more than two decades, was up for sale at a bargain price.

It took a couple of years of weekend journeys to transform it into something habitable. We had to clear away layers upon layers of weeds, underbrush, and clutters of branches and trash. We needed to fell trees and prepare an area for the house’s foundation. The house, an interesting hybrid —half pinewood cabin on stilts, half stone construction— also took some time to be finished. They began with the stone part, and some time later, once they saved up enough funds, continued with the wooden section.

I recall those days of work as happy ones, even when we occasionally would unearth broken glass, plastics, or even dead animals buried under the debris —I vividly remember a dead weasel still in its burrow, and the stench it gave off.

Family friends would come to . We would have picnics, preparing sandwiches atop fallen trunks, swim in the river, build huts, catch frogs in the evening to scare the girls, and go on nightly expeditions equipped with flashlights.

Eventually, the terrain came to resemble a more typical country house: more grass to walk barefoot and feel the dew in the morning sun, fewer trees, flowerbeds (African lilies being my favourite), and a swimming pool. Nestled deep in the heart of our modest land stands the completed house, forever exuding its fresh pinewood aroma, with an airy, sky-reflecting façade that is almost entirely composed of windows. It is bookended by a pergola for meals and meriendas, when we do not opt to eat our pastries beneath the shade of one of the eucalyptus trees populating the terrain.

I know each and every tree in this place. I can close my eyes and see their canopy swaying in the breeze, harmonising with the cooing of pigeons and the varied vocalisations of parrots. I know which ones were there before we arrived, and which ones we planted and saw grow to full maturity. I know which ones offer safe climbing and which do not, as well as which ones are the best to hang a hammock for an afternoon nap.

In fact, every piece of the terrain has memory attached to it; my family and our friends have all witnessed and participated in its gradual metamorphosis into its present state, and we have cherished every moment of it. Though already far more than good enough, this small slice of paradise is never fully finished, it is always evolving toward something.

Your little modest home on the internet

I believe that many who have had the fortune to own land, and shaped it into something habitable with their own hands, have experienced similar joys.

The internet is a place where you can also own and fashion your own piece of land. You can have your own address. It might not be a physical space, but it still means ownership. It is yours and you have the freedom to do whatever you want with it, to cultivate your own piece of virtual paradise within it. Just like our countryside terrain, you can develop it to something that you find hospitable and invite others to take a look and enjoy it. All you need to do is indicate the address and they’ll find their way.

Owning your own website is like owning real estate in the internet. Being fully involved in moulding it as you wish —for example through HTML— is like building a home in it.

In contrast, maintaining a social media account resembles renting social housing. These spaces tend to be compact, pre-fabricated, standardised, situated in areas of high population density where space comes at a premium. And you lack permission to make significant alterations. Of course, they serve in many ways as forces of good for society, providing homes to those who might not afford one otherwise.

But on the internet, the choice is different. Anyone can secure their own website, and the skills required to tailor it to at least something reflecting what you envision are not much harder than mastering the interface and algorithmic whims of social media platforms. On the internet, it is not lack of funds that prevents one from owning real estate, it is lack of knowledge.

Best of all, it exists as an endlessly malleable space that is all yours, and nobody needs to subscribed to any platform to pay you a visit. They only need to drop by your URL address.

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