The Cabin, My Happy Place

Why do things have to change? Sometimes I wish time would just stop, stand still, not move on one more second, but then I realize I really wouldn't like that. Just the same, some things I really wish never had to change.

We started going to the cabin when I was two. I grew up there, all of my happy memories were centered there, and somehow, even when the rest of the world was going crazy, I believed it would always be there for me to go back to, to heal my aching heart, to give me a place to be safe, to make me happy. I never thought it would change.

Two days before the end of 2005, my parents and siblings and I got together for a family meeting. It was really a family party, with us laughing and joking and swapping stories and memories, until the end.

“I have some family business I'd like to discuss,” Dad told us during a lull in our laughter. We all calmed down and turned our attention to him, wondering what he wanted to talk to us about.

“I've been worrying about the cabin,” he began. “I think it might be time for us to sell it.”

My heart dropped right down to the bottom of my feet. What?

“I've been worrying about what will happen after mom and I die,” dad continued, as if the world hadn't just stopped. Right now we can share the cabin with everyone, but once your kids have kids, it's going to be a different matter, and I don't want the cabin to be a source of hard feelings between anyone in the family. Plus, it's getting old, and sooner or later it will need big repairs. Mom and I pay for the taxes and utilities, but after we're gone who will do that? Anyway, I think we need to discuss what we will do with it in the future, and consider the option of selling.”

The rest of my brothers and sisters were nodding their heads, and as soon as dad was done jumped in with suggestions and comments, but I just sat there on the couch, stunned. How could anyone consider getting rid of one of the biggest parts of our life?

Granted, I knew that most of the family didn't use the cabin much anymore. My brothers took their kids once in a while, but they were both really busy and didn't have time to go very often. My sister, Linda, went with her family now and then, but now that her husband was a doctor they really didn't have much free time. My youngest sisters hardly ever went to the cabin, their families would rather go to Disneyland than camping, and I understood that. Perhaps I took my kids to the cabin so often because we couldn't afford other vacations. But in my heart I knew I'd go to the cabin no matter what.

After listening to everyone talk for about half an hour, I finally decided I'd better make my feelings known. I didn't want dad to sell the cabin just because he thought no one really wanted it anymore.

“Can I say something, Dad?” I asked when it was my turn to speak. “I've listened to all your comments, and I think I understand your concerns about what will happen to the cabin in the future. In the end, I know it's not my choice what you do, the cabin belongs to you and mom, and I want you to know that I will go along with whatever you decide. But, just the same, I want you to know that I would hate it if you sold the cabin. I think the issues you've brought up could be handled in another way, and we should keep the cabin for our posterity. I would do whatever we needed to make that work out. But if you sell it, well, it would be really, really hard for me. The cabin is my happy place. The place I go when I am sad and hurting, even if it's only in my mind sometimes. All of my memories, everything I am, goes back to the cabin. It's who I am. Selling it would be like cutting out my heart and selling that. It would really, really, hurt.” I had to stop then, because I was choking on my tears and I couldn't go on without crying.

Dad, and everyone else listened to me, but I don't suppose what I said surprised them much. It also didn't solve any of the problems. After a few more minutes of discussion, dad suggested we table the issue for the moment.

“We'll talk about it some more later,” was his final comment.

Our party broke up soon after that. To tell you the truth, I didn't feel much like visiting anymore, anyway.

As we were saying goodbye and everyone was leaving, my brother, Phillip, came up to me and gave me a big hug. I was a little surprised. I can't say that we had always been the best of buddies, because we'd had our moments back when we were growing up. Only two years apart, it was Phillip who knew how to press my buttons and get me angry, and we had more than our share of arguments and fights back in the good old days. We'd both grown up since then, but we still weren't necessarily the closest siblings.

“I'm sorry, Gale,” Phil told me as he hugged me tight. “I know how you feel about the cabin, and if I could, I would buy it myself and save it just for you so you could have your Happy Place.”

I just about burst into tears then. That was so sweet of Phillip, and I appreciated him more at that moment than I think I ever had. Blood is thicker than water, and perhaps learning that my little brother loved me was worth the pain I'd gone through that night. But I still didn't want dad to sell the cabin.

The Summer of 1958, continued again

           Grandma Russell loved to take long walks through the woods and meadows.  Every day she would set off to see what she could find.  Sometimes Mom, Keith and Gale would accompany her for part of the way.  They explored the meadow across the creek, where tall grass grew, and skunk cabbage and wild flowers.  Grandma pointed out Indian Paint Brush, with it bright red blossoms, and little purple and yellow flowers that looked like miniature snap dragons.  By the creek, jolly yellow columbines grew in bright clumps, and when they looked real carefully they could find little purple star flowers hiding in the grass. 

            Often they walked with Grandma to the spring.  There were big meadows all along the bluff, above the creek, where Keith and Gale could run and try to catch little white butterflies that fluttered over the tall grass.  At the spring the creek turned west because it ran into an outcropping of granite.  Here there were huge, smooth, white boulders to sit on.  They were always warm, but in the middle of the day they were almost too hot to touch. The children discovered that rain collected in cracks and little pockets in the rocks, and they loved splashing and playing there.  Sometimes they could convinced Mom to let them dangle their feet in the deep swimming hole, as long as she was sitting between the them, holding each around their waste.

            Right in the middle of the meadow between the spring and the road stood a big old tree.  Under it the grass didn’t grow tall, like everywhere else.  Keith and Gale found cow pies there, and Grandma told them that cows lived here and all along the meadows by the creek.  Maybe some day they would see them. 

            There were beautiful white flowers that grew in this big meadow by the spring.  They were so pretty that the children wanted to pick them and take them home, but grandma stopped them.  She held their hands and took them over to examine one of the flowers.  The petals were thin and white, they almost looked like tissue paper.  But the stem of the flower was thick and prickly all over with thorns.  Grandma told the children not to pick these flowers.  They were pretty to look at, but poisonous.

            As they were looking at the flowers, grandma saw an interesting rock.  She showed it to the children.  It was red and white and blue, all mixed up together in the same rock.  Grandma told them that it looked like an Indian had painted it, but it was really just different kinds of rocks mixed up together.  She let Keith and Gale examine it, then she let Keith carry it home to add to her collection.  Grandma found a new rock every time she went for a walk.  She carried them home and put them under a big cedar tree in front of the trailer.  There were rocks shaped like shoes and boots, rocks striped with white lines that looked like they had been painted, rocks full of holes that grandma said were made in volcanoes, and all kinds of other rocks that were just as interesting.