Worrying About the Future

And so, life went on.  We lived in the little house we rented from mom and dad for six years.  We celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary there; I had three children of my own and took care of two more on school days; Sheldon started a business, sold it, and went to work for a big printing company;  we both served in lots of different church callings, I even got to be second councilor in our ward Relief Society for two years;  and we had numerous family parties, reunions, and even Hawaiian luaus while we lived in that house.  We made a lot of memories there, both good and bad, but by the time I had endured the sixth sweltering, sweating, sauna like summer with only an old evaporative cooler and fans to cut the 112 degree plus heat, I was ready to move on.

One thing that made the summers bearable was going to the cabin.  We didn't get there often enough, but whenever possible we packed up the kids and took off to the mountains.  The best times were when mom and dad and my brothers and sisters came with us.  Then we all crowded into our tiny cabin, sometimes putting up tents or bringing dad's camper to give us extra sleeping space, and laughed and played and told stories; reliving happy memories and making new ones for our children as well.

Linnea, Holly and Russell loved being at the cabin just as much as I had, and it soon became their happy place, too.  They loved playing on the swings, running through the tall grass, climbing the trees and exploring all the fascinating places around Grandma and Grandpa Russell's cabin down below the hill.  Both of my grandparents had passed away by this time and their cabin was falling into disrepair, but it was exciting for the kids to open it's door and peak inside the dim interior, taking my hand and walking quietly around the cool dark rooms while I told them about the happy hours I'd spent playing games and staying with grandma and grandpa there. 

The kids especially loved playing down at the creek; throwing pebbles into the deep pools, wading in the shallow water, or rock-hopping down the middle of the stream.  The girls would bring their dolls down and play for hours where the last big flood had filled the channel with small stones, creating a spot where the water ran only a few inches deep.  That flood had also filled our old swimming hole with boulders and mud, making a good place for little kids to swim since the water only came up to their chests.  One summer we tried building a dam across the creek, hoping we could make the hole a little deeper, but it didn't work very well.  Still, it made a fine place to sit and fish.

Most afternoons we would drive up the creek to the big swimming hole to go swimming.  The water was very deep there, running between granite rock outcroppings that made warm places to sunbathe. They also gave the more adventurous adults a place to climb up and dive off from.  Linda's husband was a dare devil extreme, and Sheldon and my brothers always wanted to keep up with him. 

We had so much fun at the swimming hole.  A huge old tree had been pushed down by a flood and lodged between the rocks on both sides of the creek, creating a bridge.  Even the little kids liked jumping off of it into the deep water.  Looking back, I wonder how we managed to spend so many happy days playing there with never one accident or even minor cuts or bruises?  We were sure blessed.

Dad and Grandpa had leased the land where we built our cabin for 40 years.  They had given part of the property to Uncle Tillis, Grandpa's brother, to build a cabin on as well.  He passed away before Grandpa, and dad worried about his brothers and cousins.  He felt they should have a chance to use the cabin too.  Finally he tallked to the man he leased the property from to see if he could buy it outright.  The fellow wasn't interested in selling the whole thing, but he agreed to sell dad the hill our cabin was built on and half of the meadow below where grandpa's cabin was, if he could keep the other half and Uncle Tillis' cabin.  Dad worked out an agreement with Uncle Tillis' family that they could have Grandpa Russell's cabin, and he talked to his brothers and told them they could use ours.  They never came to the cabin anyway, so everyone seemed happy, except me.  I liked things the way they had been, and hated anything to change, but life does.

I suppose it was about this time that I started having nightmares about the cabin.  I would dream that we were there, but nothing was the same.  In my dreams there were houses and subdivisions all around.  I would try to walk down to the creek, only to find paved streets and developed lots in the way.  I would wake up shaking, cold and sick inside, sometimes even crying for sadness.  I would tell myself I was being silly, but no matter how logically I tried to talk myself out of my fear, inside it still hurt.  The next morning I'd laugh at those silly dreams, but it didn't stop me from having them.  Perhaps subconsciously all of my fears about the future were being channeled into nightmares of loosing the cabin.  It was my happy place, my safe place, the one place that meant more to me than any other place in the world, and loosing it would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me.  Or, at least, that's the way I felt.