When we first started working the woodlot on Acre 13, the very first project we tackled was our 15-foot geodesic dome. Not your typical dome with pre-made hubs or fancy connectors—this one was built the hard way. Every strut was tied together with compound mitres and construction screws, everything cut by hand, fitted by eye, and tightened until the structure locked itself into that beautiful geodesic geometry. It was rough, simple, and absolutely ours.
The real magic, though, was the cover. Heather put in an incredible amount of work sewing together a heavy vinyl skin for the dome. No industrial machine, no big shop—just a hand-crank sewing setup and a ton of patience. Green, taupe, and clear vinyl panels all stitched into place, one seam at a time. When we finally pulled it over the dome that fall, it felt like the start of something big. We knew it was temporary, just a test setup without proper foundations or a secure anchoring system, but we figured we’d get back to it before the real winter weather hit.
Then Christmas came—and so did three storms in a row, including a nasty mix of freezing rain and snow. We didn’t make it back to the dome in time. By the time we got out there, a branch had come down, the weight of the snow and ice had piled up, and the whole thing had collapsed. Honestly, it wasn’t surprising. We hadn’t locked the cover down, hadn’t built a base, and hadn’t taken the storm season seriously. It was bound to happen.
Once we cleared the snow and peeled the cover back, we saw one clear-vinyl panel had torn—one of the top sections. But the real surprise? The dome’s frame had survived almost completely intact. A few screws had pulled out, and a couple of pentagons had separated, but nothing was broken. No shattered struts, no twisted geometry. Just a structure that sat down for a nap and needed to be stood back up. A quick fix, in theory.
In the summer of 2019, I hauled the whole dome back home to examine and repair it properly. And then, like life tends to do, everything got busy. Projects piled up. Responsibilities came first. “Life maintenance,” as the saying goes. The dome waited its turn.
Over the years, the vinyl cover didn’t age quite as gracefully as the frame. The colored panels held up fine, but the clear vinyl sections didn’t survive being folded for so long. Still, the dream stayed alive.
Today, nearly at the end of 2025, I’m finally getting started again. Better late than never. I’ve been collecting new cordless tools, digging out my old spokeshaves and chisels, and setting myself up to work the woodlot properly.
We’ve already moved an 8×8 mini-barn onto the property—soon to be renovated into a basecamp mounted on a komatik sled. I’ll haul it with my old lifted Ford Explorer (the 5-inch-lift, 33-inch-mud-tire beast that’s become my yard truck and log hauler). It’ll be a warm spot to retreat to when I’m milling lumber, hauling logs, or just taking a break from the cold.
Once Christmas passes and my commitments settle down, the plan is simple: spend weekends at Acre 13. Mark the trail with colored tape. Flag the locations for the concrete piers. And when spring rolls in, I’ll pour the footings, build a 16-foot deck, resurrect the dome, sheath it, and roof it properly.
A new beginning for an old project. And a reminder that some dreams take the long way home—but they’re worth the wait.
