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Cabin Mama

Humor and woodsy wisdom by Laura Lollar

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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!

How I Got My Horse Fix on Poncha Pass

June 28, 2015 by Cabin Mama

I’ve been horse crazy since I was a kid. With long blonde hair, I pretended to be a Palomino. And my bedroom was full of plastic horse figurines. They were collectables, ya know.

When we went to our Camp as kids, my sisters and I would gallop stick horses through the pines, whinnying and tossing our manes. We’d even snort, paw the ground and rear up on our hind legs. I found my horse fix any way I could get it!

That’s why it was such a gift when my sister asked me to go horseback riding during a recent family reunion. We drove up to Poncha Pass near Salida, Colorado and pulled in at Granite Mountain Outfitters. A nice lady named Sue is the owner.

It’s been years since I’ve ridden. In fact, the last time it was mosquito season and we herded cows through the sage and all over the ranch. I kept swatting at flies and couldn’t sit down for days.

Anyway, we told them about our riding experience and my sister was paired with a quarter horse named LeRoy. I ended up with Houdini…

…a mule.

Now, before you go and get all judgmental on me, you should know that Houdini was one talented critter, fully capable of opening any gate. In fact, we were told that Houdini recently opened seven gates and let out so many cattle it took hours to round them all up.

So I swung into the saddle and sat proudly upon my mule.

And off we went with our personable guide, Andrew.

Just us and the great outdoors! We rode through meadows with wildflowers, tall stands of aspen and an old logging camp. No stress and no noise.

Except for my mule. He liked to groan. He did it trudging up the hills and he did it when “nature called.” No braying. No snorting. Just groaning.

But he was sure-footed as a goat

When we got to the mountain top, Andrew took pictures of us from every angle.

Then my sister’s horse took a selfie.

On our way down, there was more groaning. This time it was from me.

“Um, Andrew? How much longer till we’re back at the ranch?”

Bones in my bottom were competing for attention with the spectacular scenery. The late afternoon sun lit up a few deer butts on a distant hill, like spotlights in the sage. 

Everything glowed. I wanted to bottle it.

Then all at once, our two and a half hours were over. I dismounted my mighty steed and dropped to the ground with legs quivering like jello

It was one of the most memorable rides of my life. The good folks at Granite Mountain Outfitters delivered a little piece of heaven that day.

I got my horse fix on a mule.

And I tossed my mane a little as we drove away.

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