This place looks like a dream someone painted after one too many campfires, and then actually built it.

It's equal parts art installation, homestead, and stubborn manifesto against "normal" living.

How a floating island got started

Catherine says she was inspired by birds — the way they build without asking permission.

She used whatever washed up on the beach and recycled it into shelter and gardens.

They paid for much of the project by trading and selling carvings, not by casino-level funding.

The goal was simple: grow most of their own food and live in sync with nature.

They planned to try it for ten years and then decide, but they never stopped — 27 years later they were still there.

The whole thing actually began when a storm dumped wood on a beach and they started building.

They moved into the cove in 1992 and kept adding little buildings one float at a time.

The quirky buildings that made it a home

First, the practical bit: get a roof over your head, fast.

Catherine is a dancer, so the next priority was a proper dance floor, not a broom-handle stage.

Gardens started tiny — a salad float — and then multiplied to feed ambition, not just greens.

They built four greenhouses because the water and wind make it brutally cold for young plants.

They even made their own gallery so they could sell art without giving anyone a percentage.

Wayne pictured a beach and a firepit where friends could sit at the end of the day.

And because it rains like an ocean-wide shower on the west coast, they added floating boat houses so they didn't have to bail constantly.

Engineering a two-million-pound float (yes, really)

Wayne loved the engineering challenge and bragged that they were floating two million pounds of stuff.

Their goal was to live off the land and on the water without trashing the ecosystem around them.

Eventually they replaced rotting wooden floats with recycled fish-farm systems to make everything last much longer.

Those fish-farm floats brought armored styrofoam under the buildings that won't rot away like wood does.

He tied the whole complex to shore with a spiderweb of big ropes so the buildings move together instead of smashing into each other.

They learned the hard way — two years of bumping buildings in storms taught them how to rig it properly.

Storm damage is just part of the lifestyle, and they turned it into inspiration for yearly changes to the installation.

How they got water, power, and handled waste without leaving the island

One of the smartest site choices was settling below a lake so they could gravity-feed water to the floats.

A four-inch pipe brings that fresh water down into the houses and greenhouses — no pumps required.

They were gifted a Go Green microbial wastewater system that will purify everything instead of dumping effluent out the back.

Before that they were using a tank that turned waste into a pretty gross soup and then emptied it into the water, which they're now phasing out.

Organic stuff gets composted, burnables get burned, and very little goes back to town for recycling.

They only go to town for essentials or treats — Catherine jokes she only leaves for pop, chips, and candy now.

Power is a mix: old solar panels that still work, and a backup generator for cloudy days or heavy use.

The day-to-day of living simply (and the weird practical tips)

Start with a sensible backup generator — Catherine recommends a reliable Honda for peace of mind.

They heat everything with driftwood picked off beaches, so they never had to cut into the forest.

The house is single-walled and breathable on purpose to avoid mold in a place that never truly dries out.

They fish and trade for animal protein rather than relying solely on foraging, which keeps life easier and meals interesting.

Catherine grows protein-rich crops like fava beans, peas, corn, quinoa, and black beans to complement what they catch.

Her take is blunt: if civilization collapsed, they'd be okay — money was never the main thing for them.

Why Freedom Cove matters — and what's next

Catherine repeats a tough-love family line: life is hard and gets harder, so you better want it.

She's fiercely grateful to Wayne for their partnership and what they built together.

They don't tell everyone to do what they did, but they do tell everyone to chase their own version of the dream.

Waking up surrounded by water, forest, and wildlife is the payoff — she says she can't imagine living any other way.

They live by the rhythms of the moon and the tide, not by corporate calendars, and that freedom is everything to them.

That said, the original float house is starting to rot from the bottom up after 27 years, so a rebuild with modern fish-farm flotation tech is planned to make it last much longer.

If you care about places like this, there's more than nostalgia in this story — Freedom Cove is a blueprint for low-impact living that's equal parts stubbornness and tenderness. And if you want to help Catherine rebuild, check out the fundraiser linked in the video description and follow her new YouTube channel to watch the next chapter unfold.

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