The Cabin

A forest in wintertime has its own magically feeling that is impossible to appreciate. The world is covered in a soft blanket of snow which muffles the busy and often overly hectic world in which I live. As I have gotten older, I often seek the silence that exists out away from world.

The crisp feeling of cold air, almost freezing my nostrils is refreshing and invigorating. Mixed in is the smell of pines and firs. Slightly out of breath, I continue forward along the path, the silence of the forest, broken only but the muted sounds of my own heavy boots crunching beneath me. My excitement for this weekend of peace and quiet continues to build within and escapes in the growing smile on my face. As I look around, I take in the brown bark and dark green needles which color the scene, occasionally broken up by the nearly invisible white and black of aspens. At times, the trunks of the sleeping aspen trees seem to melt into the snow until I accidentally brush against one at the edge of the trail and realize that they are there.

Up head, I can see another shape, which slowly materializing out of the woods into my winter home. The one room log cabin isn’t much. Only set back a mile into the woods from the nearest road, its isolation often makes it seem a world apart. The solitude and solace that it suggests, as I approach, are just what my sagging soul desires.

As I complete the last two hundred feet along the path, I notice the small footprints of others in the snow. These, neighbors, who I have rarely met, do not seem to share my search for serenity and renewal. Their tracks, reminiscent of the bustle of the city, scurry about the forest, diving in and out of the snow, crossing other tracks, and sometimes, just disappearing from view, only to reappear more frantic and chaotic than before.

I hesitate as the narrow trail ends abruptly at the front steps up to the cabin. The snow on the wooden steps is untouched by the world around it and it feels almost sacrilegious to mar the purity before me. Yet this mortal world is one of imperfections and thus I climb the three steps to the door and unlock the cabin, leaving the scars of my boot prints on the steps in my wake. The door opens with a groan and a creak as the musty smell of a room left closed for too long greets my nostrils. Closing the door behind me, I set down my pack and let the peace of seclusion wash over me.

The cabin was simple in its layout. One large room with an old wood burning stove in one back corner, and a large queen bed in the other. To the right of the door was a small sitting area with a few simple, crude chairs and a roughhewn table which double for a dinning space. Next to the door is the bathroom and further along the left wall are the cupboards, sink, and refrigerator. There was very little light inside as I had forgotten to open up the shutters. Just enough light was peeking around the sides that I decided I would get to them later. I would settle in first.

Removing my boots and damp over clothes, I start off across the floor to the stove. I feel childlike innocence as I start a little run, and then allow myself to slide across the floor. Smoothed by tools, and then further worn by age and use, the floor offers no resistance against my thick woolen socks and as I glide towards the far side of the room.

With the help of a few small sticks and an old newspaper, I get a fire started in the stove. I add some large logs as the fire begins to come alive and close the lid on top of the stove. It will get cold in the evening and I want the warmth. After rummaging through a few cupboards, I at last find the old kettle and fill it with water. Placing it on the stove, I return to my pack and start to unload it. Despite only staying a few days, I make myself at home; placing the few pair of clothes I brought in the dark wooden dresser next to the bed, hanging my towel next to the shower, and putting the food I brought with me in the refrigerator and cupboards. I really hope that the pipes that reach about a mile and a half back to civilization didn’t freeze over the winter.

As I finish cleaning out my pack of the last few items that had slipped to the bottom, the kettle started to whistle. I slide along the floor once again to the stove, and using the sleeve of my sweater to lift the kettle and I set it on a tile coaster sitting on the edge of the counter. I then made myself a mug of hot chocolate. It was at this point that I was positive that hauling that half gallon of milk along the trail was worth it. Grabbing the mug, I put my feet into my boots and went outside. I went around the cabin, removing the shutters, all the while using the mug to keep my hands warm. Each step around the cabin removed a small piece of the solitude of the

After I secured all the shutters, I went back to the door of the cabin and took a long look at the surrounding area. I spotted the pond sitting in a small bowl off to my right. It looked relatively clear of snow. I hoped that I would be able to find the ice skates in the cabin. I missed the sound of skating and the smooth movements of moving across the ice.

The next few days should be good for my soul and help me reassess my life as it was. There was a small buzzing above me somewhere that I couldn’t place or find. There must be some drone enthusiast in the area. I hope that he moves on. I really wanted to enjoy the quiet of nature and winter.

I took a long, slow sip of my hot chocolate, soaking up the warmth and furthering the perfection of the moment. I knew that I would have to leave in a few days, but for now, I would savor my aloneness.