The Companion I Never Knew

On these winter days, when I arrive at the cabin the temperature sometimes can be 15 degrees inside. Consecutive nights of temperatures dropping below zero thoroughly chill the cabin, which is not insulated, freezing all my water jugs and often the cans of soup and sauces in the cupboard.

On days when the winds are light, I find more warmth outside than inside, especially if the temperatures are in the 30s or above. Sitting on the front porch facing the east, I luxuriate in the sun’s warmth, while enjoying the sound of the wind through the ponderosa trees and the calls of the jays and chickadees.

Facing my cabin is one originally owned by a man named Bill Waite (above, with his dog Cub), who lived in the cabin alone for 35 years, until the age of 91. When his sight became too poor (so he could no longer chop wood without fear of chopping off his fingers), he was forced to leave Meeker Park and move to Denver, where he lived with an old friend and his wife.

I always think about how hard that move must have been for Bill, after living in  these mountains for so long, with no close neighbors most of the year, his main companions being the deer, bobcats and squirrels, plus his sheepdog Cub. He had to replace a life of living under the stars in a valley surrounded by mountains, where everything moved slowly, and peace and quiet reigned, with big-city life. In Denver, he would have been surrounded by traffic and other urban noise, and the only “wild” animal would have been the local squirrels.

I’ve been told that Bill surprised his hosts by sitting outside, even in winter. Denver’s 40- and 50-degree winter temperatures would have felt balmy to him after Meeker Park’s 20-degree days.

Unfortunately, I never knew Bill. I arrived in Meeker Park long after he had left and sold his cabin to a man who told me stories about Bill, but I feel a kinship with this hermit who enjoyed his solitude and loved the mountains as much as I do.

He left a lot of things behind to mark his presence: the patch of rhubarb on the south side of his cabin, which he canned and which sustained him all winter long; an old cowboy boot nailed to a tree to make a nest for birds (above); an old sawmill; two wooden chairs on the front porch (above), where he must have sat and taken in the view of Mount Meeker,.

I don’t know what his view was in Denver—probably the houses next door, maybe an apple or locust tree, a fence around the small city lot. It was a far different landscape than the one he left behind in Meeker Park, yet I can understand Bill’s desire to be outside, even in a big city. Some of us need to be in touch with the elements—even if it’s just the air, the sky, the chatter of a squirrel.

Bill, I wish our paths had crossed. Since they didn't, I'll have to be satisfied with seeing your old cabin every time I look out the window and breathing the same air you did.

Comments

[Rosemary Carstens]

What a lovely salute to Bill--sometimes even an absence can be an influence, like negative space in a painting. Where there is what some would call "nothing," there is sometimes a long-lasting echo of past life. I am not a religious person in the usual sense, but in my travels there have been times I've entered an ancient cathedral and felt that the stone walls had absorbed the prayers of the devout. I could feel their presence.

[Kathy Kaiser]

Rosemary, I agree. In Scotland, at the Callanish Stones I felt the presence of the neolithic people who had lived there 4,000 years ago.

[Julene Bair]

I love that last picture of his cabin, with the glow on the grass in the foreground repeated in the sun's glow on the cabin. Reading this, I pondered the trade-offs, between solitude in nature and company in the city. I am quite nostalgic for the times I've had the former, but not so sure I could do without the latter anymore. Beautiful, evocative writing, as always.

[Kathy Kaiser]

Thanks, Julene. While I enjoy a short stay in the city, I'm always ready to head back to the cabin.

[shoney]

Thank you for telling us about Bill. What an interesting life he must have had. I love that photo of him with his dog.

[Kathy Kaiser]

Thanks, Shoney. I love that photo, too.

[Brad]

One day in the 70's when I was in Bill Waite's cabin , as a teen, marveling at the simplicity of his cabin and the bare light bulb hung from the ceiling over his reading chair I realized that I was not a mountain man. I did however enjoy some summer days in your area climbing, hiking and fishing when I was there with my parents and later with friends. I have not been to the area since 1983. Bills cabin appears to be about the same now as then--- I didn't recall that Bill had a road named after him--maybe later? Thank you for the stroll down memory lane. It was a yearning for good times gone by, google earth and Bill Waites name in a google search that brought me to your blog. I hope I will venture to Meeker Park again some day--wonderful memories. I'd like to see what things look like now.

[Kathy Kaiser]

Brad, thanks for your comments and description of Bill's cabin. New owners have since enlarged the cabin in the back, with a bathroom and shower, and modernized the inside, although the outside still looks the same.
I think the county named the road after him after Bill died, because various people have told me he would have hated the "notoriety," as he was somewhat of an introvert, from what I gather.
Hope you get to visit Meeker Park again sometime soon. There's a few new homes, but not a lot has changed over the years. There are more all-year residents than when Bill lived here, but it's still quiet in the winter. And we have a lot of moose here now.