Cabins

What Went Thump in the Night at Camp

September 15, 2021 by Cabin Mama

One of the best parts of going to Camp was sleeping in the big bunkbeds Grandpa built into the walls of the cabin. But one night we had more excitement than we bargained for!

There were two big beds downstairs and two upstairs, along with a couple of twin sized. Those beds were so big you could have one heckuva slumber party in them. At the very least, we fit four of us kids in each one. They also made great trampolines!

One night we girls decided to sleep in the upstairs bunkbed together. As the sun started to set, we climbed the stairs into the dusky room lined with knotty pine paneling. The bed was built into the corner of the room and took up two walls. We clambered on in but rather than sleep, we launched into telling our scariest ghost stories.

Mom, Dad and the boys were trying to sleep downstairs. We must have been making a lot of noise, because Mom yelled up to us. “You girls stop talking or I’m going to have to send your Father up there!”

So we quieted down, laying still and silent for a while, listening to each other breathe.

Then we heard the noise!

Scratching and thumping, it would go on for a few seconds, then it would stop. Did it come from the closet or inside the walls?

“Did you hear that?”

“Uh yeah. Did you do it?”

“Um, no!”

We weren’t sure WHERE it was coming from, but we didn’t like it one bit!

We started yelling, “Daddy, there’s something up here!” Dad came bounding up the stairs in his under shorts. He shined a flashlight all around the room trying to see where the sound was coming from.

By then we were screaming, “The picture! The picture! It’s over there!”

We pointed towards the picture on the far wall. It was jumping around. It lifted and fell like it had a life of its own. And it DID!

By now the boys had run up the stairs to see what was going on. Still more screaming from us girls but the boys were louder. “Get it Dad! Get it!”

Dad grabbed a broom and lifted a corner of the picture frame up and away from the wall. Down crashed the picture…

…and out flew a bat!

It fluttered back and forth around the room, darting here and there, ducking and out-maneuvering Dad’s broom. Now ALL of us were screaming, jumping up and down and flailing our arms to fight off the softball-sized creature. Dad tried to hit it, but he kept missing. That bat was quick!

Finally Dad opened the door which led to the roof, hoping the bat would find its way out. After a few more laps around the room and a few more swats with the broom, the bat flew out into the night.

“We’re so glad you got rid of that thing!” said a sister.

“We should have kept it, Dad!” said a brother.

Once the glass from the broken picture was swept up, back to bed we went. It took us a long time to settle down after that. Adrenaline still pumping, we giggled at how funny Dad looked in his under shorts chasing that bat with a broom.

Mom didn’t think it was so funny. “Settle down girls,” she yelled up at us. Then Dad added one of his famous phrases, “You kids go to sleep now. Tomorrow’s another day!”

Camping with Hubby at Flaming Gorge

September 6, 2021 by Cabin Mama

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?”

Etc.

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!

Are you a Cabin Mama too?

August 26, 2021 by Cabin Mama

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!

I’d love to hear what you love about cabins, the woods and being a Cabin Mama too.

Please send me a note so we can add to this list.

Warmly, Laura

Ten Days at Twenty Below

May 11, 2017 by Cabin Mama

I DO know what cold weather is. Stationed in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula with the Air Force, we plugged our cars in at night and measured snow by the telephone poles. We occasionally rode a snow machine to work. Dedicated to the mission, we got there one way or another!

We were hardy people, I tell ya. We thought nothing of temps that made our truck seats freeze up like stone and threaten to crack. We took survival gear along when we went to the grocery store, just in case. Yep, Nanook of the North had nothing on us Yoopers!

So, it tickled me when a family friend in the Forest warned me about winter on the Palmer Divide. “Better hold onto that townhouse, just in case you can’t handle it up here and want to move back to town,” he advised.

Really. Well, he didn’t know I was one mighty determined lady, not easily scared off by a little snow and Colorado cold. Living in this cabin was a dream come true. I gazed through the pines at aspens shimmering in the balmy fall breeze and replied, “There is NO way. We’re here to stay!” (I tend to burst into thyme when I get my dander up.)

Then the weather got cold – really cold! It dropped to 20 below and stayed there, day after day. We stuffed newspapers into cracks in the logs and hung blankets over doors to block out the frigid wind. I opened the faucets a bit so they’d drip. (There I go with the rhyming again.) We fired up the wood stove and soon we were snug as a bug in that proverbial rug.

I thought we were ready for whatever Mother Nature would throw at us. But how come nobody told me to put a heater down in that concrete well pump ten yards from the house? I never quite knew what was down there. Covered by a concrete lid and far too heavy for this little lady to lift, I assumed whatever it was would work just fine without our help. (Never make assumptions.)

Then, slowly, things began to shut down. Faucets stopped dripping, the potty stopped flushing and our hot water furnace stopped heating. All of a sudden, I felt like Laura Ingalls Wilder, alone without Ma or Pa in a Little House in the Big Woods. Why, we didn’t even have a fiddle or harmonica on hand!

Day after day we endured these primitive conditions. No water for coffee, no showers, no laundry. Not even a drop for brushing your teeth. Then the high speed internet went out — that was the worst. Isolated from family and friends at the end of an impassable driveway and craving human contact, I wallowed through hip deep drifts just to wave to the snowplow drivers.

You’d think I would have been grateful when the weather warmed up. Now we heard water flowing. My heart swelled with joy as I rushed ‘round the cabin searching for that magical elixir, that life-giving moisture — source of all things squeaky clean and highly caffeinated. But none was to be found. T’was a mystery. Water, precious water, wherefore art thou?

Meanwhile, down in the crawl space…

Old steel pipes had met their match and given up the ghost in multiple locations. Water spewed in all directions, creating a scene that rivaled dancing fountains at the Bellagio Hotel.

Yes, now we had water.

I owe a great debt, many thanks and my firstborn child to Vince, who toiled and struggled to tame the ruptured pipes. He fixed the hot water furnace, installed shiny new parts and shared history of my cabin from his one-room schoolhouse days.

Those who live to be old and wise believe that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But as someone on Twitter once said, “It also gives you a lot of unhealthy coping mechanisms and a really dark sense of humor!”

Moving Out of the Townhouse and Into a Cabin

April 27, 2017 by Cabin Mama

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 conveyor belt candy 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 do 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!

Critter Capers at Edith Wolford’s Cabin

April 13, 2017 by Cabin Mama

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!