The Cabin

“I wish we could stay here forever,” she mused. Her two cats were sunning themselves in the grass beside her, getting up every so often to readjust or clean their paws. She reached over to give them each a quick pet, feeling the itch of the grass graze against the bottom of her arm. The sun had reached its peak signaling it was time for lunch, but she stayed a bit longer, basking in the warmth of the sun. Below her the river roared wildly, celebrating the recent rainfall that had washed out the embankment, but had since calmed down enough to set foot on the now rock-covered beach area. The cicadas were singing with the birds and occasionally a bee would come by and hum along in her ear. 

The tiny cabin stood proud in the center of the little patch of land. Tree’s canopied the perimeter offering ample shade if anyone needed to seek a moment's refuge from the sun. The cabin was built in the 40’s, and there had been newspapers under the linoleum that spoke of bombing in London to prove just that. The cabin had been adjusted and rooms had been added on over the years, and most recently the whole cabin had been gutted and restored with the help of her father and boyfriend the previous year. The shiplap was a faded red and the tin roof green, she wondered what it used to look like on snowy mornings, specifically Christmas. Now it hardly snowed much at all until January, but when she was in grade school snow could start as early as Halloween, and she wondered how it had been when her dad was a kid. There was so much history here from her family it was nearly impossible to not feel at home. 

She stretched out her whole body as she got up from her blanket, the cats sleepily looked up, second eyelids still showing. She gave them a quick pat each and headed inside. The floor was no longer slanting down to the left, which was something she was still getting used to. Now, the floor was leveled and it still caught her by surprise each time she stepped in. All the work had made it look much different from how she remembered it as a child, however, after her grandfather had passed it wasn’t used as frequently and the poor cabin began to sag with age and welcomed in wildlife that made it smell pungently of must. She still pictured the two old rocking chairs with scratchy cushions beside an equally scratchy old couch beside it. A small table to the left with a bulldog calendar from 2013. In the kitchen there had been cabinets covered in cobwebs and a vintage oven that with a thorough cleaning could still probably be functional. An old chimney that they once roasted marshmallows over it during a rainy night when she camped here as a young teen and hadn’t been used since, and behind it a vintage diner table sat in front of a giant window almost the size of the wall, and a tiny bedroom in the back that had an unopened box of mothballs sitting on an old dresser. Despite its dilapidated previous state, that was how the first thing she thought of when thinking of the cabin. Maybe to many it sounded gross and probably a little sketchy, so there were chipmunks in the roof, big deal, it still filled her with so much warmth and happiness from all the memories she had had there.

Now, the walls are clean with fresh sheetrock waiting for them to decide a color scheme, and the floor has been restored but left as wood and no longer covered up with linolium as my father had kept as much of the original flooring as he could.  The furniture was replaced and the old curtains her grandmother had sewed were taken down and scraps were framed and hung on the wall. Old glass bottles that were found under the cabin had been cleaned and placed on shelves with crocheted flowers inside. The musty smell had long since disappeared, and she found herself almost missing it. She was grateful that the cabin had been brought back to life and to a usable condition, but still had a soft spot for the way she knew it her whole childhood. She could sit down at the table or on the couch without feeling like she’d need to jump in the river to clean off anymore, though, and she was happy she was actually able to stay inside when she camped here again. She went to the table that her grandmother had made her so many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a side of potato chips for lunch, and took out those same ingredients to make herself just that. There was just something you had to do the same for the sake of getting that hit of nostalgia where you are almost alive in the memory again and this was just one of them.

Her boyfriend had been down by the river counting crawfish and building cairns that morning. “The water is so warm today!” he exclaimed as he made his way into the cabin. He came over and gave her a quick kiss before sneaking a chip out of the bag. The sweet smell of light sweat and river water washed over her and carried with it a sense of peace. 

She thought about how much she wanted this to be their reality. A quiet life in this little remote cabin with their two cats and maybe a couple kids one day down the line. They could start a garden in the back full of fruits and veggies that would ensure healthy variety in their diets. They would start their mornings tending the garden, harvesting what they could, some to save and some to share. Then spend the rest of the morning by the river or in the lawn reading a book or journaling, with their only worry being what they will have for lunch that day. Maybe they would get some chickens so there would always be fresh eggs. In the afternoon they would wade through the water looking for wishing stones and skipping any flat stone they found across the water to see who could get the farthest. The sun would sprinkle freckles over their tan skin and make it hard to leave the water. She thinks of how pruny their fingers would be and the way the dirt would stick to their wet feet when they got out. How nice a cool shower to end the day would feel, right before smores over an open fire.

This is how life was supposed to be.