Company at the Cabin

          Family and friends seemed to fall in love with our cabin just as much as we did, although we were always a little nervous the first time we showed it to them.  After all, the cabin itself was just a tiny little house.  We didn’t have a dishwasher, or a TV, or even a washing machine.  Lot’s of our friends had cabins that were really fancy summer homes, and we worried they would be disappointed with ours. That never happened.  Perhaps they were surprised when they first saw how small our cabin was, but it was so cute the cozy size didn’t seem to matter.  And what the cabin lacked for in amenities it more than made up for with the creek and the hill and the trees and the beauty.

            There was never a more beautiful scene than the one we looked at from the top of our hill.  Often, I would stand looking north, drinking in the beauty of that picture.  Below the hill the roof of Grandpa’s cabin would blaze white as it reflected the sun.  Behind his cabin stood a huge sycamore tree.  It's leaves sparkled like diamonds above the roof as they rustled in the wind.  Ponderosa pine trees grew tall and straight on the hill, while their green pine needles danced at the end of black, twisted branches and framed the scene as they stretched far out from ancient trunks.  Far away, above the sea of green leaves, flat topped mountains stood against a sky so blue it looked unreal.   Puffy white clouds built up in thunderheads that would soon bring loud claps of thunder and wind and rain.   A person could stand there forever, memorizing every detail of that picture, so they could take it home with them and think about it when the desert and life became too hard to handle. 

            We loved to have company at the cabin.  All day we would play together, showing our guests the wonders all around us.  We would take them to the spring, or the Indian ruins, or to play ball in the big meadows along the bluff overlooking the creek.  We would climb in the tree house and swing in the swing. Up and down the hill we ran, back and forth between our cabin upstairs and the creek and fun below.  Inevitably, someone would look at the side of the hill, and suggest sliding down.  We would try to explain that Dad didn’t want us to do that because it would wear the hill away, but the soft pine needles  and steep slope were just too tempting.  Before long kids would be slipping under the heavy wire Dad had stretched to keep us on the trail, and they would start sliding and tumbling straight down the side of the hill at full speed.  Then Dad would have to leave whatever he was doing and come stop us before too much of the hill was worn away, but not before everyone had experienced a ride better than the Matterhorn at Disneyland.

            In the evenings we would play games and tell stories.  Rook was a favorite card game, and charades was something we could all get involved in.  What fun we had in the cabin’s little front room, laughing and playing and enjoying the simple pleasures of good friends.

            One summer we invited our neighbors and their little girl, Valerie, to come up to the cabin for a day.  We made a picnic lunch and walked down the creek, past where it bent to the right at the foot of the bluffs.  Here the creek slowed down into a big, deep pool, shaded by overhanging bushes that created a canopy above the dark, quiet waters.  We ate our lunch on the soft grass which grew along the banks, and played in the water.  It was just deep enough for little children to swim in, but only came up to Mom and Dad's knees.  The water was clear and cold, and here the creek bed was lined with thousands of little pebbles.  Minnows darted in between the shadows, nibbling at our feet if we stood still long enough.  Then we screamed and jumped and laughed because it felt so funny to have them touch our toes.  That was a long, lazy, perfect summer day, the kind you can only remember, but never duplicate.