September Travels - The Cabin
There is a little cabin up north in Canada that sits on a hill overlooking a small lake. It's a one room cabin, with a double bed in the center that is covered with a country quilt, lumpy pillows and an extra blanket. Cupboards line one wall of the cabin and contain the basic kitchen utensils - candles, matches, flashlights, sleeping bags, kerosene lamps, playing cards and, most conveniently at night, a bucket. You can guess the bucket's nocturnal purpose.
From the small balcony in front of the cabin, you can glimpse the lake rippling through the trees. A narrow path can barely be seen in the long grass and should you take it, you will find yourself standing on a long dock over the water. Breathe in the air - it is so clean, so fresh. Listen - to the crickets, the leaves rustling on their branches in the wind, the water lapping against the lichen-covered rocks lacing the water's edge. Look - surrounding the lake are the trees that burst into rustling reds and golds in late September. During the summer, the muffled sounds of conversation or music (last week, opera), can be heard from neighboring cabins. The rest of the year is quiet.
This is one of my favourite places in the world. Years ago, J and I would drive up and stay in the little cabin for a weekend. We would leave our suitcases by the bed, change into our swimsuits, walk down the grassy path, test a toe or a hand in the water (too cold? warm enough?) and then jump into the lake. Well, I would grab a foam tube first and then take a good ten minutes to muster up the courage to jump in but once I did, ahhhhh! Heaven! One night, several years ago, J and I spent an evening skinny-dipping in the dark, under a canopy of millions of twinkling stars. It was thrilling to swim in such darkness, a seamless heaven and earth. I later painted that night onto vellum.
After our swim, we would either lay on the warm wooden dock or throw our towels around us and quickly make our way back to the warm, sheltered cabin. I loved taking naps on that bed. Whether in the middle of a summer afternoon with the insects buzzing loudly outside the window or in the early evening hours when the loons would call to one another across the lake, laying on that bed in the cabin was like spending a day at a spa.
J and I were married there. I changed into a white linen dress in the cabin and walked down the grassy aisle with my three bridesmaids (who were not warned that it was a steep hill and therefore had to stab their high heels into the ground so they wouldn't roll down the aisle!) to J and our guests who were waiting by the water's edge.
We still go back to the cabin although we don't often sleep there anymore. J's parents retired and built their new home (with their own hands) close to the old cabin so now we have the fabulous convenience of an actual bathroom (including jacuzzi - whoohoo on winter nights!), a full fridge (thanks, mom and dad!) and I swear, the most comfortable guestbed I have ever laid upon. We usually arrive to the barking and tail-wagging of a yellow lab and the welcoming hugs, kisses and laughter of J's parents. This is where I spent the second half of my trip up to Canada last week. Pretty lucky, huh? Oh! And that old cabin? Well, it's a guesthouse now.
