There is a couch facing the fireplace, and it’s bohemian and chaotic and colorful. White cloth cushions, wood armrests, covered in knit throw blankets and a one-of-a-kind pillows: one made from an old flannel shirt with a single huge wooden button in the middle, and one made from thick pile purple shag carpet, and another with a wild red and yellow and green zebra stripe pattern. Rugs line the polished wood floors, a profusion of various patterns and styles all overlapping. An industrial-style floor lamp stands beside the couch and it’s made from old copper piping decorated at sporadic intervals with antique hosepipe knobs, the lampshade a bowl of hammered copper, with a long, dangling pull chain and an Edison bulb. Overhead is a chandelier that is clearly a handmade work of art, crafted from sections of stained glass in a brilliant explosion of colors, almost an imitation of a Tiffany lamp.

Left of the front door is the kitchen. The counters are thick butcher block, with a deep porcelain farm sink. The cabinets under the sink are painted a bohemian array of bright colors, no two colors or shades repeated, and no two cabinet pulls are the same, some being cut crystals, others brass knobs and others ceramic butterflies and delicately wrought designs of filigreed metal or oiled bronze. The cabinets above are white, open face, floating. On the shelves are blue-and-white china dishes. The faucet is oiled bronze, a high elegant arch with antique knobs on either side of the base. The stove is also an antique piece, while the refrigerator is stainless steel, French-doors over the freezer drawer, ultramodern.

The rear wall features a single open doorway, with a sliding barn door stained a dark reddish brown. Beyond, the bedroom. A king-size bed, four-poster, handmade. A tall bureau on one wall, heavy and dark wood with thick bronze pulls; a small, delicate white vanity opposite the bed, lined with Edison bulbs. A bathroom, all white subway tile and industrial fixtures and exposed piping, and a deep hammered-copper soaking tub.

The real draw, though, is the loft. It’s over the back of the cabin, accessible by a ladder-like stair. The space is deep, taking up the entire rear half of the cabin’s footprint, it’s been turned into a library. Shelves line the walls, worked into every little nook and angle, and there’s a large skylight in the metal roof to let in daylight. Instead of a couch or recliner is the largest beanbag chair I’ve ever seen, so big I could curl up on it. There’s a wicker basket beside the beanbag, filled with fleece blankets. The bookshelves are lined with books of all variety, everything from sweet romance and women’s lit and thrillers and horror to biographies and classics and collections of essays. Another floor lamp stands beside the beanbag chair, this one steampunk clockwork.