The door to the room affectionately called “the icebox” during cold months, requires a firm shove to open.  It is filled with interests, the room has a character of its own shaped after those who inhabit it. A swarm of metal dragonflies buzz near the ceiling, their brightly colored wings a hand designed token to their creators imagination. A table covered in a mat marked with various measurements occupies the center of the room below them, the first of many tools of creation that fill the room. There are at least two sewing machines in the room, one of which is mint green and retro looking. A rainbowed assortment of spools of thread cling to the walls, neons, pastels, neutrals, metallics, rich reds and bright blues. A cardboard box sits on the ground, filled entirely with copies of To Kill a Mockingbird. The room contains three bookshelves, one mainly pertaining to nature with books on birds of the area, plants, gardening. Another is an array of books on quilting, latin, and art books, with photos and a bright yellow bag of lemon drops mixed in. The third is mainly textbooks, math and physics and chemistry, and childhood photos. Below that third shelf is a series of cubbies belonging to those who temporarily inhabit this space, a tiny box of personality contrasting with the room they are in. Even of the coldest days that cast frost upon the windows, there is still a feeling of home that projects a warm glow throughout the room.