I spent New Years Day on top of a frozen lake in Minnesota. We did some ice fishing. Sitting there with a line dangling in a 10″ hole, trying to coax a Walleye onto a hook gave me lots of time to take in the qualities of a simple fish house. It was small. About 8’wide x 10’long and 8′ high. It had a single door and a small window. It was rustic, made of plywood. Nothing fancy. And it was cold. Very cold. Below zero cold.
My Swedish roots conjured up images of little “stugas” that dot the countryside of my grandparents’ homeland. When I was quite small, Grandpa built a little red stuga playhouse for me. It had a sliding window, a dutch door, a bench seat that opened for toy storage. The two of us had many a Pepsi and cookie parties there. Life was good when Grandpa came to visit.
The fish house on top of the frozen lake was a different story. Like I said, it was cold. Very cold. Below zero cold. It was only natural that my mind turned to coldworking. A building about this size would make a terrific space for cutting and trimming glass, grinding and using a lap wheel. Bump up the roof and put in some upper storage. Maybe there will be room for a small chair and table for a Pepsi and a plate of cookies.
A fish was caught that day — and an idea was hatched.