Falling Water

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In August, 1998 we needed something to do, or see as a family to take up a small amount of time on our way from picking Ben up in Pittsburgh and dropping him off in Somerset. Falling Water seemed the natural choice for it's location, mostly, but also several people had told me I would enjoy it.

"Enjoy it" doesn't come close to describing the visit, however. The moment I stepped into the large living/dining area and looked out the wall of glass into the woods I loved the place. I could get into the details provided by the tour guide, but, as interesting as they are, the experience was far beyond such information. It was spiritual.

The feeling that I got from each room, each stairway, each passage, was something almost inexplicable. I felt comfortable, safe, and more deeply connected to nature than on a backpacking trip. In fact it seemed each detail served to amplify the peacefulness of the forest around it. Many parts of the design make it difficult to determine where inside ends and outside begins.

I could live at Falling Water. For all it's structural imperfections, the feeling it created within me was perfect. I would be content to live there, to relax there, something it seems I cannot do well in my normal life as I try to fill each corner with activity and meaning... all the corners at Falling Water were already filled with nothing. I would make some Faustian deal to spend my life there but for the fact that no one's prepared to make such a preposterous offer... not even the devil, for I think he knows he would lose in the end, for spending a year, a month, perhaps even a day as a living part of the architecture would redeem my soul. At least spending just the short time there on tour breathed a sigh of peace into me that might nearly hold me over until I return.