Sunday, December 10, 2006
That's my cabin in the woods, as it looked yesterday. Cliff and I walk around it almost every day when we take our morning walk, but it gets little use this time of year. There's no way to heat it, after all.
When I first thought of having a cabin toward the back of our 43 acres, I pictured myself and the dog spending many nights there. And indeed, the first summer, I probably averaged one night a week.
I love to camp and cook out, and my original intentions were to fix many breakfasts back there, eating bacon and eggs before I headed back toward the house, and civilization.
However, I found myself impatient for my morning coffee, so I've used my kitchen utensils there very little. Not to mention that, since Cliff's surgery, both bacon and eggs are a rarity on our table.
I think when my dog, Mandy, met her untimely death, that changed things somewhat, because she figured very prominently in my cabin experiences. Sadie, my present dog, loves going back there, but there's just something missing.
Now I've found that most of my cabin getaways are for two or three hours at a time. In good weather, I love to head back there, start a nice campfire in the evening, and listening to folk music until after dark. But I'll usually come back to the house to sleep.
The cabin is the only place on our property where this loner can go to get away from people for awhile, and that's what I treasure about it. Although we are in the country, if I stand on the porch, I can count seven houses, all in walking distance... some in spitting distance, you might say. Teenage boys abound here: they gravitate to Cliff's shop (he loves it) collecting gossip, cursing, boasting, and riding noisy two- and four-wheel vehicles with no mufflers past the house and up our driveway.
There's none of that at my cabin. I can sit on the little deck Cliff made for me, look down over the Missouri River bottoms, and think about the native Americans who used to live here, and of Lewis and Clark navigating that River in the distance. Even in winter, as cold and colorless a view as it is, I like to stop and gaze to the north for a bit.
How many people have the chance to go on a two-hour vacation any time they choose?