Nomadic cultures developed the yurt because is was quick to erect, easy to dismantle and light enough to haul from place to place.

Those original attributes have been lost a little in the Western translation. Now they're full of cinder blocks, plywood and pressure-treated posts. While the modern rendition isn't nearly as portable as the ancient yurt, it has its benefits. It's roomy enough for people or stuff, it's cheap, it has a cool name and it poses a healthy challenge to friendships during construction.

I know. I helped build one. This is my story.

My friends Sara and Joanne had recently purchased 40 acres of land near Bend, Oregon where they planned to eventually build a house. In the meantime, they had constructed one yurt for themselves and enlisted me to help with setting up the second one for guests. Hoping to be a frequent guest, I felt some sense of obligation when they asked me to join them for the weekend building party. They had done this once before. They also had the help of Wes, a skilled carpenter. And how much work could building a portable home take?

Construction day came bright and early. After lengthy discussions, Sara and Joanne finally agreed on the spot where the yurt should be built. The carpenter, Wes, and his "assistant,"--10-year-old son, Walter--arrived about 7 a.m., a heavily loaded trailer in tow.

Sara gleefully pointed out the heaviest items for me to carry up the hill. My back strained under the several hundred pounds it hauled: 13 concrete blocks; plywood deck material; stacks of pre-cut insulation; a roll of 7-foot-tall lattice ; 23 five-foot beams; and several rolls of canvas. Most of the yurt came in one kit, bundled neatly, instructions included. The floor material comes separately.

We spent the morning getting the piers--the concrete blocks on which the yurt rests--level in the ground. This required the skill of Wes and one of those tripod-shaped surveying tools through which crazy people in orange vests peer, hoping to die painfully under a whizzing car on a heavily-trafficked street.

By afternoon, we began fitting the puzzle pieces of the decking together. Wes had cut the slotted pieces of plywood decking just-so, and--thanks to his precision--they snapped together like an over-sized jigsaw puzzle. But how many people grunt and swear over a cardboard puzzle? Dad demanded that Walter cover his ears as we struggled to shove the heavy pieces into place. Sara handed me a sack of screws and the battery-powered drill and showed me where to point it. The last screw was almost in place when, over the drill's screech, I heard someone shout "The insulation! We forgot the insulation!"

"I knew this was too easy! I can't believe we forgot to put the insulation down first." Sara groaned. Wes looked totally chagrined. Joanne, meanwhile, stood glowering over the chunks of insulation, neatly stacked about nine feet away. Luckily, Walter was just about the right size to squeeze under the deck and slide the pre-cut insulation sections into place. Walter's size was key, but what was more important was his 10-year-old enthusiasm for rolling around in tight, dirty spaces. Just as the sun set, he emerged, an exact replica of Charlie Brown's "Pig Pen," dust clouds billowing around him.

Day number two began with Joanne and I unfurling the roll of lattice that would form the walls. Joanne held one end steady and I tugged on the other. I swayed unsteadily with my partner, forcing it around the outside of the decking, until we came full circle--stopping about four feet short of Joanne to leave room for the door. The door? Yes, a solid wood, Plexiglas-paneled front door that hinged into a frame we installed in the lattice. When was Plexiglas invented, anyway? I bet those nomads didn't have it in their front doors. Then again, they didn't have front doors.

Wes arrived and we began building the dome of wooden ceiling beams. We inserted the 23 beams into the center ring, an octagonal piece of wood. Wes perched on a ladder in the center of the deck and, very slowly, we raised the center ring, beams radiating like sun rays, over his head. Wes and the roof wobbled back and forth as Joanne and I slid each beam into place. Sara continued reading the instructions out loud to us. "If your yurt is larger than 16 feet in diameter, you should consider this part of the construction to be a hard hat area." Tha-wonk! The beam two feet to my left crashed to the deck. I rather wished for one of those shiny yellow hard hats and wondered if any of the packed material I had hauled up the hill contained one.

The roof frame stabilized, we unrolled the canvas and stretched it around the outside of the lattice, creating a soft wall. Wes threw a separate, pre-cut piece of canvas over the top and we tightened it down to form the roof. We secured the canvas by "stitching"it through the lattice.

Then we stood, shoulder to shoulder--two full days after we started this project--and admired our handiwork. The yurt sat, solid and cozy, a round hut offering shelter from the harsh desert's wind and sun. The sage canvas wall almost glistened in the glow of the evening sun.

"You know, Dail," Sara grinned, "if we moved everything over that way about 10 feet, the sunset would come right in through the front door." I didn't grin back.

Yurt kits cost $2,000 to $10,000. Available from Pacific Yurts, Inc., 77456 Highway 99 South, Cottage Grove, Oregon 97424. 503-942-9435. pacyurt@yurts.com