The Mother Goose House

High above the winding roads of Hazard, Kentucky—where the Appalachian hills roll soft and green—there’s a house that doesn’t quite sit. It perches.

Shaped like a giant goose, complete with beak, wings, and weather-worn feathers, the Mother Goose House is one of those rare places that feels pulled from the pages of a storybook—and planted, improbably, in the real world.

To call it a house feels like missing the point. It’s more than shelter. It’s more than a roadside attraction. It’s a dream made solid, as odd and original as the man who built it: George Stacy.

A grocer by trade and a romantic by nature, Stacy once promised his wife that he’d build her a home no one would ever forget. What she got, beginning in 1935, was a literal goose-shaped house made from local fieldstone, set on a base of brick and whimsy. The eyes? Working car headlights. The neck? Hollowed out, with a spiral staircase inside. Legend has it that bones from actual geese were buried in the concrete—just to make sure the soul of the bird stayed with the house.

It took years of handwork, hauling stones by wagon and laying each one into the curved walls with care. But what emerged wasn’t just a structure—it was a landmark. A declaration of individuality. A kind of love letter in stone. Inside, the house is small and snug, with rounded walls that hug you as you move. The interiors curve inward, like the inside of an egg. It’s not grand. But it’s sincere. And it wears its history proudly, even as time leaves its mark.

Over the decades, the Mother Goose House has become something more than a curiosity. It’s become a symbol of local spirit—of Appalachian creativity and eccentricity. A place where personal vision outshone practicality, and where the line between art and home simply vanished.

Travelers still pull over to stare. Locals smile as they pass. Tourists snap photos, trying to believe what they’re seeing. But for Hazard, it’s not just a roadside oddity—it’s a part of the town’s identity. Quirky, enduring, unforgettable. And maybe that’s the point. In a world of cookie-cutter houses and predictable skylines, the Mother Goose House reminds us what it means to build differently. To create something that reflects not just utility, but imagination. Love. And maybe just a touch of madness.

Here, on a Kentucky hillside, a goose doesn’t just fly—it settles into the earth and becomes a home. And in doing so, it teaches us that even the wildest ideas can leave footprints. Or in this case—webbed ones.