Selling the Cabin

October, 2006

I had to leave mom in the hospital in Show Low and come home at the end of the week to take care of the rest of my family. She was doing better, but I'd been away from my little girls too long. Of course, they hadn't even noticed, since they'd been staying at their friends house, and having a glorious time!

Alyssa and Matt blessed their first baby daughter, Kaylan, that Sunday. She looked like an angel. Mom and dad felt bad for not being there, but Alyssa understood.

Two days later, dad drove down from Snowflake to get some of moms stuff. She was doing better, but Alan wanted her to stay at his house so he could keep an eye on her. Things were pretty much ready by this time for mom and dad to start building their own house across the street from Linda and Alan, if only our house in Gilbert would sell so they would have enough money. Dad was determined not to take out a mortgage.

I had a Primary Presidency meeting that morning. Dad was there when I got home, and he came over to our side of the house to talk to me.

“Gale,” he began, “I met a man up in Snowflake yesterday who is interested in buying the cabin. He knows Linda and Alan, and his son has gone there with them.”

“Oh, brother!” I thought. “Here we go again.” I'd hoped, what with mom being sick and everything, that dad had forgotten his concern over what would happen to the cabin after he was gone. We'd discussed it in a family meeting a year ago, where he'd explained his fear that the cabin might become a source of contention eventually, with so many descendants all wanting to use it at the same time, but we hadn't talked about it since then.

“I sold it to him today,” dad said.

What?

“He really wanted to buy it,” he tried to soften the look of shock he must have seen on my face, “and he paid us enough to start the house in Snowflake.”

The room reeled around me. It was as if someone had pulled a rug out from under my feet and I was flat on the floor with the breath knocked out of me. It was awful! I know it's silly, but hearing that dad had sold the cabin was worse than having my husband walked out on me all those years ago. I belonged to the cabin. It was who I was; it was my dreams, my hopes, my happiness; and it felt as if a part of me had just been cut out!

Breakfast at the Cabin

            Playing up at the cabin was hard work, whether we spent the day hiking, examining Indian ruins, swimming at the spring, playing in the tree house, or swinging.  No one ever had as much fun as we did when we were at the cabin.  By the time evenings came we were worn out and ready for bed.  We settled down while mom read about Bob White, Mr. Muskrat, Cheeter the Squirrel, and the Laughing Brook from our old animal books, and then she tucked us into bed and we slept like logs. 

           I would wake up next morning to the crackling sound of dad building a fire in the old wood stove.  It was delightful to snuggle down into my fluffy pillow, just my nose sticking out from under the covers, feeling the cool mountain air around my head.  I always slept sounder when it was cool.  Down in the desert it was hard to get a good nights sleep because everything was hot and sticky.  Up here in the mountains it was fresh and cool, and wonderful!  

           The next thing I would know I was waking up again to the smell of pancakes cooking as Dad made us breakfast.  Oh, what a delightful smell!  Dad kept his promise to mom up there in the mountains.  Although she fixed the other meals, he was the one who always made breakfast..

            Sometimes Dad would make special breakfasts for us.  He would open a can of corn and add a couple of spoonfuls to the pancake batter.  That was good!  Then he would put the rest of the corn in the refrigerator, ready for Keith and Phillip to take it down to the creek with them when they went fishing.  You never knew which bait the fish would go after that day.  Sometimes they liked worms, but often they went after corn.   

             One morning Dad showed us the secret for making the best eggs in the world.

            “Cook the bacon first,” he told us.   “Then, after you take the bacon out of the frying pan, don't poor out the grease.  Just crack the eggs right into that grease, and when they fry they will be crispy and good!” 

             Dad was right.  Deep fried eggs were the best!  Mind you, that was back in the days before healthy eating became a fad.  If anyone tried to cook eggs that way today they would be arrested for endangering the public health, but what were vacations for?  We sure had fun up at the cabin!