Cabins

New Home Sweet Home

I must apologize for being so absent these past few months! We’ve had a busy summer and fall with weeks worth of company, a move into our new home, cleaning the old house and coordinating showings to prospective buyers. I’m happy to say we now have a buyer and, fingers crossed, we’ll close in a few weeks. It’s been a long slog, for sure!

But we’re now settled into the new place and have (almost) found a place for everything we moved over here. Doug can finally get all our vehicles into the garage!

What We Learned Along the Way

First, we should have cleaned out the old house of all our non-essentials before we moved. We tried to get rid of the old stuff, but ended up moving most of it over to the new house. Then we went through the painstaking process of sorting through everything and making a number of trips to Goodwill. We’re not done yet. There’s still a few more loads to go!

It’s amazing how much “stuff” we had! I won’t bore you by listing it all, but suffice it to say we filled numerous truckloads. At some point we looked at each other and said:

Me: I wish we’d cleared all this stuff out of our old house sooner.

Hubby: Why didn’t you tell me to get rid of all this stuff before we moved?

Second, we shouldn’t have put our old house on the market as soon as we did. We were planning on a “best case” scenario in terms of timing. (We’re such silly people!)

We had hoped our new house would be built much earlier than it did, but noooooo! In addition to a few other items, there was a problem getting concrete work done on a retaining wall that delayed us over a month. A month!

Then we failed our first inspection and had to fix some things. One of them was a pane of glass that needed to be replaced in an upstairs bathroom. The window was one and one half inches too low and close to the shower and required tempered glass in both the upper and lower panes. (Just in case whoever was in the shower would feel compelled to leap out of the tub and fall into the window.) Trouble was, the upper pane was not tempered. Lo and behold, we couldn’t get the glass quickly — it was on backorder! So we waited two weeks for this dinky little pane of glass to arrive before we could re-schedule the inspection.

FINALLY we passed the followup inspection, got our Certificate of Occupancy from the Building Department and started the big move!

Appliance Adventures

Once we were into the new house, you should have seen us trying to get used to our new appliances!

The new clothes washer is fully digital with a locking lid and a HUGE drum. The first time I used it, the darned thing got off balance and tried to wiggle its way out from between the stationary sink and the wall. I couldn’t figure out how to get the lid to unlock so I could re-balance the load. I started whining about how I wanted my old washing machine back from the old house. We were seriously considering swapping out the new appliances for the old. Eventually, I calmed down and figured I’d try to get used to the mechanics. I reasoned it’s better to have a brand new washing machine than one that’s 15 years old. (Or is it?)

Our next adventure was figuring out how to start the dishwasher. Do you think it occurred to us to open up the booklet of directions? Nope. We figured it couldn’t be that difficult. So we experimented by fingering our way across the panel of digital “sensors” and finally hit upon the one that started things up. Once you hit the Power button there are 14 different options to choose from to get the kind of wash you want. Then you hit the Start sensor. But you’d better be quick about slamming the door shut because it only gives you four seconds before it shuts down. Then you have to start the whole process over again!

Finally we figured it out but we didn’t hear anything happening. So there’s Doug and me leaning over with our ears pressed against the dishwasher listening for water sloshing around inside. It seemed like minutes had passed with the two of us crouched over waiting for sounds that signaled success! Now that we know what to expect, it’s old hat.

Home Sweet Home

It feels good to be in our new home after years of going through the building process. Our marriage is still intact despite the construction issues that cropped up. Our kitty Snickers has settled in and initiated our new carpet with a number of thrown-up hairballs. We’re getting used to the sound of the heater coming on, which makes us feel like a jet aircraft has launched from our rooftop.

And the house I had built after the wildfire will now belong to someone else. Hopefully they will enjoy it as much as we did.

We’re home now and we’re blessed!

Find Out Why I’m a Glutton for Punishnent

I hope never to become one of those people who gets together with friends and does nothing but talk about their ailments. To me, it is the epitome of getting old. With all the things there are to talk about in this world — politics, family, work, books, movies — who needs to be reminded that our bodies are falling apart? I feel like an old log cabin, leaning to one side, propped up by timbers so I don’t fall over.

But yet, I’ve found myself spending more time laboring over personal upkeep than ever before. I’ve actually started a list entitled, “Laurie’s Health” where I itemize all the doctor appointments I’ve gone to, my blood pressure numbers and prescriptions I’ve been on. I know, I know, it’s an obsession!

Just last week I had three appointments. (My social calendar should be so full.)

First came the orthodontist. Yes, yes, I’m sporting a mighty flashy set of braces which I talked about in this article.

And I got bad news. I’m not progressing as quickly as he’d like, so I will have to wear them longer than he had originally planned. (Sigh) On top of that, he replaced my wires with a heavier gauge metal which tightened up my teeth and caused sharp new edges to rub the insides of my mouth raw. So not only did it hurt to bite down on a sandwich, but it caused a searing pain on the inside of my lower lip. Whaaa! Don’t you feel sorry for me yet?

You wait. I’m just getting started.

Then came the skin doctor. She wielded that liquid nitrogen bottle like a machete and froze patches off me in places I can’t see, much less reach. Then she numbed me up and cut off a growth I’d been sporting for months. Being blonde haired (mostly) and blue-eyed has its drawbacks. So I walked out of there feeling like a pin cushion and looking like a giraffe.

A glutton for punishment, I headed to the electrolysis lady on Friday. I have a standing monthly appointment with her because I don’t want to grow old looking like Mrs. McGee in grammar school. She had a chinful of long bristly hairs that made her look like Santa Claus. All the kids made fun of her and I wondered why she didn’t hire someone to pluck them out.

I have this fear I’ll end up in a nursing home where no one will care to keep up with my grooming habits. Coincidentally, my electrolysis lady said that’s the number one reason she hears from women who seek out her services — we all worry about those nursing homes. This is the curse of being mostly German, we are all fuzzy folks.

I’ll spare you the story of what I had done to my toe. That’s taken six weeks to heal. Earlier, I took a tumble coming out of church and tore my meniscus, which eventually earned me a steroid shot in my knee. Then there was the tooth implant that didn’t go well.

Good grief! Now I am one of those people who does nothing but talk about her ailments. Only I’ve been able to do it in writing, which means I can’t be interrupted. (Are you still with me, or did you get up and leave the room?)

Actually, I’m quite thankful I’ve been blessed with good health. There are many who struggle with issues far more serious than my minor complaints.

But I’m holding onto the walker we got for my Mom when she broke her pelvis last year. You just never know when you’re going to need one — at the very least, for a conversation piece!

Are you a Cabin Mama too?

Whether you grew up in a cabin, adopted one as you got older or relish the lifestyle that comes with cabin living, you can be a Cabin Mama too!

You’ll know you’re a Cabin Mama too if you…

relish living in the woods,
enjoy wood smoke and campfire smells on your clothes,
have a love/hate relationship with squirrels,
love the looks of knotty pine,
use pine cone fire starters,
jealously guard your stacks of firewood,
can cook over an open fire,
love the smell of bacon and hash,
collect old wool army blankets,
have used kerosene lamps,
love wildflower bouquets and wild strawberries,
frequently engage in sing-a-longs,
savor coffee on the deck or porch,
trade plants with neighbors,
host hunting parties and camp reunions,
collect old hats and coats people left behind,
have been known to use an outhouse,
pump water at the well,
enjoy the iris and daffodils Gramma planted,
can skip makeup altogether,
get up early to see deer in the front grove,
are used to living with a wide variety of indoor insects,
love the scent of pine trees.

Yes, we’re all Cabin Mama’s at heart. I wish you many years of loving and living and making memories in your charming abode!

Warmly, Laura

Camping with Hubby at Flaming Gorge

We visited Flaming Gorge. There’s nothing like a camping trip to strengthen the bonds between husband and wife.

Thankfully Doug did all the preliminary research, made reservations, and got us safely to the campground after we visited Dinosaur National Monument. He’s great with logistics. All I had to do was sit in the truck and let him do all the driving. He also packed the truck, unloaded the truck, set up the tent and the canopy too. Then he carried both kayaks 98.367 yards down to the water’s edge. (I did carry my makeup bag to the tent.)

In case you think I must be a real prima donna, I did the shopping, meal planning, packed the coolers and did all the cooking. I’ll have you know that in 19th century Italy, a prima donna refers to the “first lady” in an opera who performs leading roles. Generally she sang more music than other women in the company. In other words, she did the most of the work.

So being a prima donna isn’t always a bad thing. I entertained my wonderful hubby by breaking into song the entire way there and back. Just sayin’, I do earn my keep!

Once we got to the campground, it was time to pick the best spot for the tent. You don’t want it too close to the fire and the opening should face the picnic table. There can’t be too many lumps on the ground and it’s got to be level. While our site was close to the potty, it couldn’t be downwind.

Every year we have to re-learn which tent poles go where and in what order. There’s nothing funnier than watching two fairly intelligent people trying to teach each other how to understand simple directions. And it’s amazing how instructions can be easily misunderstood:

Hubby: “Grab that pole and push it towards me.”

Me: “Which pole?”

Hubby: “The long one. Push it over this way.”

Me: “What way?”

Hubby: “Push it through the sleeve on the top.”

Me: “It’s stuck.”

Hubby: “Here let me come over and do it. You hold the corner down.”

Me: “Which corner?”

After the tent was finally set up, we took a quick drive over to the Visitor’s Center. We camped within a few miles of the Flaming Gorge Reservoir, a beautiful mini-Grand Canyon that borders Utah and northwest Colorado. When we got there, we approached a sign that said, “Danger Cliffs. Guard your children.” Nobody has to tell me twice. I’ve been afraid of heights my entire life. Just thinking of it as I write this article twists my stomach in knots.

We could have gone horseback riding while we there there, but the trail meandered along the rim. That was a deal breaker. Why would I want to climb up on something five feet higher to look down into the abyss? Even at the Visitor’s Center I wouldn’t go near the corner window, which was suspended over the gorge. I let Doug take the pictures.

The next day we took the kayaks out. Now, I’m fine with water. I grew up with lakes and pools and even competed in synchronized swimming events. I have no problem getting into the kayak; it’s the getting out that gives me the trouble. Thank goodness Doug was a submariner in the Navy. He knows all about how to lift heavy, awkward, talkative objects out of the water.

We had a great time once we got settled at camp. The weather was perfect and the bugs were few. Once it got dark, we started a campfire and sat with our heads tilted way back looking at the stars. There was no light pollution and we could even see the Milky Way and tons of shooting stars. It was a wonderful experience.

Doug leaned over to me and said, “Isn’t it great we get to sit here in the woods, smell the pines and look at the stars?” I replied, “You mean like we do when we’re home?” Ha! Somehow it’s different when you drive six hours, get woodsmoke in your clothes, sleep on the ground and put up with noisy neighbors!

But after two days of tenting, I was ready for a shower. So, we packed everything up (again) and moved over to the cabin he’d reserved. T’was a welcome change. If you ever decide to go, we stayed at the Red Canyon Lodge near Flaming Gorge. There is a small lake there in case you want to take your kayaks or canoe.

We had planned to move from the cabin back to the tent on our last day, but I hated the thought of setting everything back up again. Instead, we left a day early and stopped along the way for a visit at my brother’s house. He has a shower.

Now, just so you know, I don’t mind tenting. We’re fairly mobile and have a better selection of camping spots. I like it better than trying to navigate one of those huge campers. But after you get home and think of all the work you put into the trip, you might question whether it was worth it.

Yes, yes it was. The stars, campfire, kayaking, snuggling together in the tent and seeing Flaming Gorge definitely was worth it. And now that we’re home, we really appreciate our comfy bed and a full sized shower!

We still have noisy neighbors, however. There’s nothing like a few screech owls to remind you of the great outdoors!

Dealing with Debris from the Black Forest Wildfire

Wow! It’s hard to believe so much time has passed. So let me catch you up on the wildfire story. Now we were dealing with debris from the Black Forest Wildfire.

After we viewed what was left of the cabin and my brother’s house, we stopped at the town center where Red Cross folks were handing out shovels, ash sifting screens, tarps and other supplies. What a great group of people. I wish I could have been more sociable, but I felt like I was in a dream — basically pretty numb.

The next few weeks was a blur. I had to meet with the insurance company before any of the debris could be collected or removed. Our adjuster was very thorough and empathetic. He took a ton of pictures and measurements. I had been cautioned not to consider him a friend and keep things professional. Overall, they were fair with us — certainly not Santa Claus — but fair. I had a notebook where I wrote down everything he told me, so I wouldn’t forget. My mind was like a big black hole.

I took advantage of the offer for volunteers from Samaritan’s Purse to sift through the debris for us. The day in July they showed up, it was in the high 90’s and everyone had to wear a hazmat bunny suit for fear of asbestos. Those people were saints! They encouraged Mom and I to sit back under the shade and let them do the work. Every once in a while a volunteer would bring over a “treasure” they’d found to show me. They asked where any important items might have been located in the house and stacked everything they found in piles. They raked the mounds of ash into piles was well.

They were dripping wet under those hazmat suits. And at the end of the day we formed a circle in prayer. They gave me a Bible, which each one of them had signed. They stressed they weren’t doing this work so I would donate, but it was something they each felt called to do. Teams of volunteers do this kind of work throughout the nation when there are disasters. I’ll say it again — they are saints!

There was very little left intact after the fire. Many of my depression glass dishes melted together. Our cast iron skillet that had been on the stove was warped. Imagine how hot the fire had to be to do that! My son’s military dog tags survived, as did some teacups and coffee cups, ceramic Christmas angels and ornaments. (Perhaps a spiritual message?) What we saved from the fire fit into three, five-gallon buckets and some of that was broken glassware and oriental blue dishes I thought I might create something with in the future.

One of the most surprising discoveries were the three ceramic decorative houses my Mom and Dad had given me. They were sitting on top of the stone fireplace mantel, totally intact with only the paint bleached from the fire. Just think of all the burning logs and roofing that fell from above when that fire swept through. And these three little houses survived without a scratch on them. I use one of these houses to close my keynote speech entitled the “Wildfires of Change.” Audience members are pretty amazed at how something so fragile could be so resilient. It makes a great analogy for how we humans survive troubling times.

So, you see, going through the fire itself was one hurdle. Then you had the cleanup and all the decisions about what to do with the debris. There was a lot of metal; the wood stove, twisted water pipes, garage equipment, refrigerator, hot water heater, furnace, washer and dryer, stove and the innards from my Mom’s piano (THAT was a big loss). Thankfully a friend volunteered to collect the metal and after his hard work, we took it down to the salvage center where we were astounded by the amount of metal from the fire. The number of burned out cars and trucks alone was amazing.

After that, I could interview and contract with the debris removal guy to haul everything else away. I wanted the place cleaned up as quickly as possible. I wanted the mess gone. The insurance company required me to get bids from three contractors. It was hard to figure out who to go with; I’d never done this before. Once everything was hauled away. I went out there and noticed the stepping stones that formed a path in front of the cabin now led off into an empty space. Perhaps it represented our future — yet to be determined from the absence of our past.

The last step was tree removal. Fortunately, trees out front on the majority of our property were spared. The fire had only singed them and the Forest Service guy said they’d bounce back. But the trees along the side of the cabin and in the back were “toast.” We had to remove about 45-50 trees, big ones and little ones, haul away the slash, cut up and stack the trunks. My “woodsman” was kind enough to carve a cross with his chainsaw out of one of the bigger trees. These crosses cropped up all over the forest as people cleared their property. It was a sign of hope.

Critter Capers at Edith Wolford’s Cabin

Friends couldn’t believe I would leave my clean, spacious condo in town and move to an old, tiny log cabin way back in the woods.

“One winter out there and you’ll beg to come back,” they said. “Think of the work just to keep it clean. You’ll cut off a toe; you’ve never chopped wood in your life. And what about the bugs and the bears?!?”

They were right about the bugs.

They crawled up out of the drainpipe, cornering me as I scooted to the back of the tub. I grabbed the shampoo and tried to inflict a swift and sudsy death. Desperately, I shoved the soap with one toe and prayed the darned thing wouldn’t hop. Down it went into the depths of dank and rusted drainpipes. But my sense of security was shattered — no longer could I shower with my eyes closed.

It didn’t stop in the bathroom. The cats dropped three-legged colorless crickets on the top of my bed, and I’d watch in horror as they hopped in circles. (The crickets, not the cats.) From then on, any twitch or tickle I felt as I slept became imagined insects crawling over the covers and up to my face.

The drama didn’t stop inside the four walls. Outside, crows would swoop in and invade the pines, watching and waiting for a chance to dive-bomb my cats. Flickers drilled their jackhammer ears into bug infested logs on the sides of my home. The most dastardly among them made straight for the metal leaving me frustrated and furious as I raced for the door and watched from below.

You’d think that leaving the door open to let in the breeze would be a welcoming sight but it ruined relationships. After a triangle-headed alligator lizard walked in and under the feet of a friend, she joined the ranks of those who declined my invitations. They said, “It’s too far of a drive. Find me on Facebook.”

But there were furry little fellows who filled the void. Black squirrels and grey squirrels kept me company all day and into the night. They chewed a hole through the logs and got into the attic. I’d lay in my bed and hear them over my head, munching away on the wood and the wires.

Snakes hid in the walls between drywall and logs, crawling out from behind a south facing window and sunning themselves on the ledge by our door. They slithered from under the heat runs, discouraging my efforts to clean up the mouse droppings. After months at the cabin with no snakes in sight, I’d hoped they’d moved on. Then neighbors discovered a nest in their attic and threw 18 of them, wiggling and twisting, over the fence and into my yard.

It’s years since that fateful day when we moved to the cabin. Each morning I open the door, breathe in piney fresh air and count the bugs, the birds and my blessings. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything!

The Black Forest Wildfire Made Us Homeless

So we were homeless, thanks to the Black Forest Wildfire.

And now, all of a sudden, the wait was over and there was so much to do. I had to call my other children and let them know the house was gone. I called the insurance company and filed a claim. I had to get organized. I had to find housing. We needed clothes. I had to contact the phone and cable companies. Where would our mail end up? Would my clients be okay if I postponed their work? Did I have to cancel garbage pickup or would that be obvious? So many decisions. So many pieces of one’s life tied up in your home.

The following Monday we went to the Disaster Assistance Center. I resisted at first, not wanting to feel like a Black Forest Wildfire refugee. But my mom went with me and we moved from one station to another, tying up loose ends, talking to people who’d learned from the fire the year before. I collected paperwork, a stuffed animal, a blanket and lots of data dumped into the big black hole my mind had become. I asked the same questions over again, unaware they’d already been answered.

By Wednesday, we’d found a place to live, thanks to my daughter and a friend whose dad had a rental available. There were 500 families looking for places to live, so we were so lucky to find something just miles from my folks and the property. The insurance company sent us an advance to get clothes, beds and kitchen basics. I’ve never hated shopping to much. I purchased a plastic filing tub to store all the papers. I started a journal and created a “Breadcrumbs” book where I wrote down events as they happened.

The day we went back to the site was surreal. I braced myself for an emotional onslaught and family members insisted we drive out together so I wouldn’t have to face it alone. I remember looking at the debris, the burned out rubble and upright chimney as if it were someone else’s place. We took pictures and poked through the ashes to find a few remains. And I kept waiting to feel something. I didn’t know why I wasn’t having a reaction.

But when we drove to my brother’s house, it hit me. The scene was so ugly. There was a rabbit caught in the fire and “frozen” in place standing up. Imagining that moment for the rabbit did me in. I wanted to get out of there. I felt sick. So I crawled back into the van and waited for the others, tears burning. My son was struggling too. I felt a strange bit of comfort knowing it wasn’t just me, over-reacting. We were in this together he and I. When we finally left and drove through the neighborhood, almost every house was burned to the ground. Taking pictures felt like such a desecration.

“Put one foot in front of the other,” my Mom and Dad kept saying. The steps to come would prove to be the hardest.

Moving Out of the Townhouse and Into a Cabin

I can’t think of anything more fun than moving. (Did I just write that out loud?) It’s especially “enjoyable” when you’ve been in one place for decades and accumulated lots of stuff — kid stuff, office stuff, hand-me-down stuff, garage sale stuff, family heirlooms and day to day necessities. Yup, we’d pared down before, shrinking from a monstrous Victorian money-trap to a much smaller abode. I was ready. I knew how to do it. I girded my loins. (Can you hear the Rocky theme song?)

I figured a week between the cabin closing and renters taking over our townhouse should be just about right. Seven days seemed like enough time to clean, drag out the dirty shag carpet, install tile and redo the hardwood floors. We had a schedule and everyone had a part to play. I was pretty impressed with my organizational prowess.

Then they changed the closing date.

All of a sudden, my carefully laid plan looked like the candy conveyor belt scene from I Love Lucy. Now, we’d close late on Friday and renters would move in on Sunday

The race was on! Once I had those keys in my hot little hands, I skedaddled out to the woods and unlocked doors for the flooring guy. Back at the townhouse, a few hardy souls appeared, enticed by the offer of pizza and beer. They filled and stacked towers of boxes that swayed to the sounds of My Life Would Suck Without You by Kelly Clarkson. Cats ran for cover and cowered behind the dryer. We worked until midnight knowing our efforts would surely make the next day so much easier.

Morning dawned, full of hope and promise. I got the donuts, commandeered a truck and lurched my way back to the townhouse, expecting to see hordes of eager volunteers. Two lone relatives greeted me at the door, then turned their attention to the donuts.

Where WAS everyone? The clock was ticking and that truck was empty! Turns out, it WAS a great day for a friend to treat most of my movers to a leisurely breakfast. I ask you, what better way to ease into the day?

By Noon our gang was working like a well-oiled machine. We packed and loaded, hour after hour. But without knowing how or why, stuff magically reappeared in closets and corners we knew we’d already cleared. It was as if we were bailing water from a sinking ship. When would it EVER END, I cried in dismay!

Meanwhile, out in the woods…

Boxes were emptied into the dark and dirty recesses of a one-car garage. Furniture littered the driveway and deck. Only once did an inconveniently placed tree interfere with the truck’s front bumper. Slowly, the clutter diminished at one site and rose at the other, like bubbles foaming from a pot of pea soup.

Hungry and tired, we gathered for pizza under the pines. The piano was in the kitchen and the couch was outside by the front door. The only thing missing were a few corncob pipes, a jug of moonshine and a banjo.

As dark descended, my trusty movers drove off and I was left with the cats. They crept from one room to the next, lurking around corners and moaning like tortured souls. They jumped up on window sills, then leaped to the floor and took off like something was after them.

Those windows were big and bare, so I hurried to drape them before who-knows-what discovered I was in there — all alone. I tore open cartons and pulled out one blanket after another. Thankful to find a hammer and nails, my anxiety level dropped with every window I covered.

Time to sleep, but where were the rest of our blankets? I would freeze rather than take them down from the windows. So I curled up under some throw rugs, dozing and waking to the moans of two neurotic cats. They wouldn’t shut up; it sounded like a horror movie. I heard every sound that night.

And I kept telling myself, “Well, it WAS you who wanted a cabin in the woods.”

But soon morning dawned. Again, full of hope and promise.

I opened the front door to the smell of piney air and sunlight streaming through the trees. Dew glistened on the grass. The deer scampered about. Bluebirds swooped down and draped ribbons through my hair.

(I get carried away sometimes.)

If you’ve ever moved, you know how nice it feels to have the packing and stacking part over and done with. Then you sit back, look around at all those boxes screaming for attention, roll up your sleeves and…

…pour yourself a big glass of wine!