An old Soviet dacha, dad’s Zhiguli car, a Mayak radio console, and outside the window — a timeworn hazel tree that had seen it all. This was once the setting for every family celebration, lively feasts, and long, wine-fueled arguments among architects about the meaning of life, while children played Cossacks and Robbers in the garden. The dacha was a place of gravity — a place of power.Then the whirlwind of life swept the protagonists of that era into an unexpected future. The country changed. So did values, morals, and priorities — careers had to be built, marriages made and unmade. Life surged ahead, while the dacha remained still. And the old house, slowly, quietly, began to fall into decay.But this place was never destined for oblivion. Years later, when life’s storms had somewhat settled and the longing for the carefree days of childhood and youth grew sharper, the gaze turned back to this corner of memory. And so an idea was born — not just to revive the old dacha, but to transform it into an experimental house that would unite past and future, becoming a kind of bridge between eras.The challenge was to create a Scandinavian-style cottage while preserving the spirit of the place —its atmosphere, its soul —and to shape a modern, functional space that honors memory without being trapped in it.