I intended to write a short story this morning, but after a few paragraphs I ran out of brain power to complete it.
So, I figured I go easy on myself and write about my day dreamy ideas of owning a cabin.
I know the trend right now is to have adorable little sheds in your backyard that might as well be a tiny house.
And that’s fine, I already have a cute shed although the inside isn’t all done up nice like the ones on Pinterest, that’s because mine really is for storage. But that’s a different topic.
As for my cabin dreams, I’ve always loved authentic (or very close to authentic) cabins build by actual settlers and tucked into the mountains.
Not at the cabins built like mansions by cunstruction companies with all the bells and whistles of a high end custom home.
I like to imagine the families who might have lived in my type of cabin, the hard working people who built it by hand. I like to imagine their are fur trappers and bootleggers crawling about these mountains.
I image steppin’ out bare foot and firing warning shots from my rifle which hangs above the door.
I imagine people panning for gold in streams and ‘cricks’ to no avail. That the kind of cabin I want.
But Id take a few other options, like if I owned some wooded land, I’d cut down my own trees, carry my own foundation stones, make my own chinking and wood shingles.
Id collect rain water in old wooden barrels, cook my food over the same fire that heats my cabin, have my shot gun locked up safe in a cabinet ‘cuz kids these days ain’t gotta uh lickin of common sense’
I’d be okay with the out house situation, and the ‘bath tub’ being a metal bucket behind a makeshift curtain.
(I’d okay with this b/c it’d only be my vacation home)
I’d buy Old Smokey moonshine from the store, but in the cabin I’d tell you I traded with those bootleggers down yonder and claim it’ll cure your ailments.
I’d become that funny old man who sits on his front porch smoking a corn cob pipe, who’s unbeatable at checkers and starts every conversation with “I like to think of myself as a storyteller”
I’d become that kids who wants to play you a song on his banjo, that spinster fussing over her tangled yarn, that superstitious old granny lady hunched over a straw broom telling wild tales about the ‘haints’ and the ‘devils weed’ and how she rid herself of an ugly wort by hammering a penny into ‘that there tree’, she’ll tell you the secret location of her distillery and reveal wads of cash (tax free income) she’s stashed away for a rainy day.
She’ll reveal the secrets of her ‘clan’ but swear you to secrecy, and curse that ol s.o.b. over there smokin’ his corn cob pipe, and that ‘good fer nothin’ boy makin’ all that racket’ and how he ‘ought ta be school’
THATS the kind of cabin I want.