People heard “underground bedroom” and made it weird.
But there were reasons.
First, I had spent ten years framing houses and remodeling basements from Cheyenne to Pueblo. I knew what earth did for insulation. I knew how quickly heat disappeared through bad walls and indifferent roofs. I knew a small, well-built room below grade could stay temperate when everything above it wanted to freeze solid.
Second, the old house had no usable basement. My grandfather had dug a partial cellar by hand and then abandoned the project after hitting rock. There was a depression beside the back mudroom where he’d once stored root vegetables under a timber cover. The location was already close to the house, naturally shielded by the slope, and tied into an old drain line that still worked when it felt generous.
Third, and most important, I hadn’t slept through a winter storm in years.
