I live in a glass house.

It's virtually all glass—give or take the master bedroom closets and a few corner supports. The floor-to-ceiling windows soar 22 feet in two opposing corners. The house also sports an eye-catching canary yellow front door that features a peephole, which—considering there's glass on either side—is clearly architect James Evans' clever idea of a joke. Evans designed and built the house for himself in 1960 during New Canaan's modernist building boom.

The modernist history here is a big part of what drew me to this town. My home isn't just a place to eat and sleep; it's a work of art. There are more than 100 moderns in New Canaan, most built in the late '50s and '60s by a group of progressive architects. Philip Johnson famously built the very first glass house here in 1949.

I've discovered that glass house living is in sync with my natural rhythms and love of nature. The indoors and the outdoors merge seamlessly. It's the closest one can get to nature without having to pitch a tent, roll out a sleeping bag, and worry about fending off mosquitoes.

When I come home after a day in the concrete canyons, my glass house rises to greet me, bringing me back to my Earth Mother roots. I have binoculars strategically placed throughout the main level so they are close at hand when an unfamiliar bird visits the feeder or twin fawns amble by. I'm thrilled by the sight of a red-tailed hawk soaring overhead. I drift off to sleep admiring the silver outline of trees in the moonlight and the backyard fireworks of fireflies. And being an early riser, the sun streaming into my bedroom at 6 a.m. is no problem.

Living in a glass house also forces me to be a minimalist. You can't hang curtains on 22-foot windows, and you can't hang pictures on the walls either. Living in a house that's not overstuffed with furniture and nick knacks helps me develop a sense of clarity and liberation from "stuff." 

Glass house living does have a few minuses.  Occasionally one of my feathered friends will get knocked senseless, there's an omnipresent fear of a fly ball going astray, and I wouldn't be surprised if more than a few neighbors think I'm batty. I'm also afraid to open my monthly fuel oil bill in the winter, which is half a mortgage payment. And I'm guessing it will take a barrel of Windex to clean this house. Know any good window washers?

Laurie Cantillo's columns about the quirkier aspects of New Canaan life appear each Sunday in New Canaan Patch.