The Cabin

A tinge of woodsmoke in the fresh frigid night air is the first hint I’m getting close. Chickadees flit along the path, more abundant here than in the deeper woods. Then the big dog’s tracks mark the edge of his territory, not that he wouldn’t go beyond it to scare away a fox or squirrel that’s posing a threat to his beloved human or hoping to make a meal on the bone he left. At last the trail opens up and there is the soft lemony light of the windows, the gas lights gleaming through them in a warm welcome. How many times have I enjoyed this sight, a delightful end to a delightful ski or walk along the unplowed, minimally maintained road through the wilderness surrounding our cabin? I tried to calculate it once, and it was close to 2,000 after more than 30 years.

The cabin was built by hand from big red pines on the property, each one prayed over as we took its life to shelter a succession of humans and their pets. Plus the multitude of small creatures that want an easy home out of the elements–mice, voles, spiders, mosquitoes, even the occasional shrew. Several time a bear has made its way in, looking for an easy meal rather than a cozy home. During construction, before the place had doors, a bear would sometimes just stroll through the openings cut for doors and