Cabin Envy

 

 

It was inevitable, I guess, that once I found my dream cabin, I started seeing other cabins that had features that my cabin lacked. On my walks around the valley, I always found cabins that seemed perfect, where I could imagine myself happily living.
    One cabin, with a bright red trim, had a screen porch that overlooked the creek, and I could picture myself curled up with a book, maybe on a nice wicker chair, reading while listening to the sound of the water spilling over rocks. 

    Another was constructed of thick yellow logs placed in alternating patterns, sitting almost hidden in the woods, so I didn’t notice it until I walked by it. Someone had made an effort to craft this cabin, so it seemed to me like a piece of art, and every time I pass by I admire the handwork. 
     Another cabin I coveted was small, perched on a hill above the valley and facing Mount Meeker. From the back porch, the whole valley was spread out, and I imagined myself there, watching the clouds move across the peak, seeing the first pink light at dawn hit the top of the peak.
    This wasn’t exactly buyer’s remorse, more like a restlessness. I’m always looking for something else, something better, even when it seemed I had gotten exactly what I desired. I loved my cabin, but as reality set in, I had to deal with both mundane issues (getting a new roof) and less mundane issues, like facing my own fears. The cabins I encountered on my walks were still unencumbered by any real issues, had no baggage attached. It’s like when you’re on vacation, and the places you’re visiting seem so desirable. You imagine your life there, but it’s always without the things that weigh us down in reality: making a living, paying your bills, getting your car fixed, dealing with a sick pet. 
    On my walks, I rarely saw people at these cabins, which made them more mysterious and remote, as if I could assign lives to them, as if they lurked in the woods ready for me to attach my imagination. From talking to my neighbors, I got a sense that many were family cabins, passed down from generations, but that some of the newer generations didn’t love the cabins as much as their parents or grandparents who originally bought them.
    So most of the cabins sit empty, owned by people whose lives are too busy, I think, or who maybe are bored by the simple pleasures of mountain living. Yet something prevents them from getting rid of these places that have been in the family for generations. So the cabins sit there, holding their secrets, their decades of silences interspersed with short bursts of activity, usually over the summer holiday weekends.    
    My favorite cabin (above) is just down the road from me, where the road ends at a bridge across Tahosa Creek. The cabin, not particularly remarkable, backs up against the hillside on one side, and a yard on the other side ending at the creek, dense with willow bushes. To the west are thickets of trees and willow bushes and, off in the distance, the hills that rise up to Mount Meeker.
    As much as I loved my cabin, I always feel slightly exposed, surrounded by four or five other cabins (although only two are used year-round). But this other cabin, tucked against the hills and at the end of the road, is by itself. I wonder if there’s a yearning in all of us for someplace that feels safe and protected, where we can be ourselves, where we can dream without being disturbed by life’s realities. And maybe it’s impossible to find, which is why I’ll always be looking down the road for the (really) perfect cabin.

Comments

[Melanie Mulhall]

Kathy,

I am reminded here of an earlier post in which you stated that the cabin has a foundation of tree stumps. One can only guess that those tree stumps came from the property. If that is the case, then your cabin must be a very happy camper because wood taken from its home is thought to be happier than wood transported long distances. Your cabin sits on such wood. Even if the cabin itself has not been built from local wood (and I so hope it was), you should still have some very yummy energy going for you there. And how many other cabins can boast that?

Melanie

[Rosemary Carstens]

Ah, yes, the search for the unobtainable! I remember it well--haha. Just remember that those of us who DON'T have a cabin the mountains at all are envying YOU! I guess it's just human nature to follow the bear over the mountain, to see what we can see, as the song goes --

[Kathy Kaiser]

Melanie,

What a great image. I love the idea of the yummy energy from the local wood.

Kathy

[Bettianne Shoney Sien]

Kathy,
I had to laugh and smile at Cabin Envy---as a homeowner and realtor, I know that it never stops---not for anyone, there always seems to be one better just around the corner--it might be interesting to ask yourself what issues they face...