Dark Days at the Cabin

This summer has been very sunny overall. Recently we've had weeks of gorgeous sunny weather. One cabin friend says that this has been the best summer ever, weather wise.

Wouldn't you know that today, after a glorious sunny start, the clouds rolled in. We do need the rain, so I am not complaining.

I'm wondering how to keep the cabin from getting too dark in feel on a dark cloudy day. Our place is all wood - and it has a warm glow to it. However, on days like today and those later in the fall, the depth of the forest with its greens, greys and blacks reaches into the cabin somehow. Cutting down a hundred trees to let in the light is not the answer. What to do?

1. Turn on the lights. All of them. I do this but the warm wood seems to soak it up. Besides, it's a waste of electricity. I suppose if we had painted everything white we wouldn't have this problem. I shut most of the lights off.

2. Just use lots of the light in the area where you are at the moment. Doing that now.


3. Get busy and stop thinking about the light/dark issue. Bake something; work on writing; read.
Yes I know that is the right answer. So I will sign off and do just that.

The Last Day of August

Our errands done, we go fishing. We take the Lund down the ‘stream’ toward the lake, zigzagging among the dead-heads, tall grass, pickerel weed patches and boulders. Gary stops and puts the motor in reverse to clear the weeds.

The afternoon sun is milder somehow than even just a week ago. Some grasses near the shore have turned brown. The geese gather there, a few more each day, eating in the grass, waiting for the hundreds who will soon join them.The tips of maple branches are turning crimson.

As the boat glides through the channel, small bass and pickerel dart past in the bright green underwater grass. Boatmen scatter around us. Huge dragonflies zoom overhead. Soon they’ll die off, but for now they are powerful airplanes, droning above us and landing on dreiki -  freshwater driftwood – the old roots and trunks of fallen trees. A kingfisher poses on top of a huge tree root base lying on its side in the water. Its roots fan up and out, like a pair of Hindu dancer’s hands. They grow larger each summer as the water level drops. The bird poses there until we get too close. It flies off and circles over the stream.

We start casting as soon as we pass through the maze of Clorox bottle marked boulders at the entrance to the lake. No luck in our usual weed bed, but across the way in the cove, we put on heavier lures and start catching bass, white perch, and a few yellow perch. One bass is so small that I can hardly tell he was hooked. I hold him up and inspect him, as I get him off the lure. A micro-bass, he is the size of a Christmas ornament, an exquisite miniature.

The breeze is light, but steady. Clouds build to the southwest, but we can tell they will bypass us. The sun turns orange in the haze as it hangs over the treetops.  A Sandpiper stands on a rock nearby and bobs its head. We call him Bob. (Hours later, Sibley's guide tells me that he is a Yellowlegs Sandpiper.) We troll out over the deep hole where the big fish are hanging fifty feet down at the bottom, per our fish finder. None take our lures, as shiny and flashy as they are.

We weave back up the stream at sunset. The water turns pale blue to match the sky. Shy ducks, smaller than mallards, slip along side us and fade into the weeds, trying to stay out of sight. Gary casts for pickerel on a Skitterwalk but no luck. Pulling up to the dock we find Jasper waiting for us on the shore, which in recent weeks has transformed itself from boulders to a sand beach.

The full moon rises, a ripe persimmon. The crickets' quiet songs ring through the woods.

One month from now this will be a different world. But on the last night of August, the stillness of late summer is rich with quiet wonder.

Turf Wars

So we made it back to the cabin earlier this month. At first, it seemed like everything was in order. We walked in, listened for anything vaguely like a mouse skuttling. Hearing nothing, we started to unload the car and get organized. The cat went right into the crawlspace under the cabin and within about half an hour, caught a mouse. Hmmmm. We didn't think much of it until we opened one cupboard and found that a mouse and his friends had had a major party in a big kleenex box. It was totally shredded, with a generous sprinkling of black rice. It cleaned up pretty quickly. So we thought all was well.

A while later, we noticed a groundhog (muskrat) sticking his head out from under the shed next to the cabin. Our backyard was full of delicious greenery. At first we let him be. The cat was fascinated with him. They didn't bother each other. Then we learned that they can make big tunnels and burrows under buildings, and that those facilities would likely be inhabited by other critters down the line. So, we decided he'd have to go. We planned to get a "Have A Heart" trap to do some 'catch and release.' However, before we took that step, we played some Tower of Power out in the shed at a good volume. He or she wasn't a fan, and we haven't seen him since!

We thought our experiences were quite unique, until a neighbor told us of a relative of his who unlocked his summer place up north, only to find lots of duck scat all over the house, a pile of duck feathers, and then a very smelly and very dead duck in the middle of the living room. Apparently the poor thing had flown down the chimney (they'd left the damper open) and couldn't get out.

Today I was filling my car with gas and half-way through, I happened to look at the area around the gas tank opening. There was a miniature wasp nest, complete with an actual wasp on it!  I managed to fill the tank, close the lid, and get home. My husband kindly took care of the nest.

What will we find when we get there?

It's several weeks yet before many of us venture to our camps, cabins and cottages that are boarded up all winter. Just about two full moons from now, we'll be packing up, and venturing back to the woods to check things out.

Now is the time when we start to wonder what we'll find when we pull into the driveway. We'll smell the air, car windows down, and listen to the crunch of the tires on the gravel driveway festooned with pine needles.The cabin will have been waiting for us, silent and empty, for six months.

What will we find? Will there be dead mice in the wastebasket, lured there by the blob of peanut butter? Will there be live mice? One year we opened the cabin door, and the cat snuck by us. Once inside, he pricked up his ears and scampered up the ladder to the loft, commencing a week of nightly hunts, his favorite entertainment. Last year, we were grateful to find not one, not even a trace of one. Dead or alive.

Will we find piles of dead cluster flies? Yes. Especially since it's been a relatively warm winter. We did put up fly strips in the fall, but I bet they will have been overwhelmed, given the warm days that spur on hatches.

Will we find traces of moose visits? Always. We'll find broken off branches and stems of small birch trees, and piles of tater tot-like moose nuggets near the porch, places a moose might stand, out of the wind and snow. Heck, one of these years I'm sure we'll find some on our porch. Why can't moose enjoy a little porch therapy too?

Will we find piles of chewed up pine cones, courtesy of the red squirrels? Of course.

Will we find that the floating dock is still tied to the tree between the rocks? Yes. It always is.


Of course one worries about break-ins, but our neighbors check in on things for us. We have learned to relax about that somewhat.

And when at last we roll into the driveway and get out of the car and slam its doors, will we find the air so thick with silence that it pulls the tension right out of us?

And when we open the cabin's front door, and see the piles of cluster flies, the bins, the porch furniture piled up, all in the state of chaotic winter storage, at that moment will we find that longed-for smell? Will we breathe deeply, savoring the pungent scent of the wood - maple and hemlock - that has been curing all winter?  I hope so!

Here's a photo of a Jamestown, TN log cabin for sale. It captures the mystery of arriving at a silent cabin by car on a crunchy gravel driveway. Looks like a lovely place. Link to property

Very Pinteresting Indeed

Have you heard of the program Pinterest? If you like cabins and cabin decor, you should check it out. Pinterest (www.pinterest.com) is a free program that allows you to organize images (photos, drawings, etc.) according to your own categories. And then you can share them with your friends, and pin up the images you like on your boards. You can 'repin' what other people have posted on their boards too.

One of my nieces invited me to join. (It takes a bit of time time to get approved if you request to join without being invited.) It is a fantastic way to collect ideas about cabin decor and design. Personally I have a 'board' where I pin everything rustic, another one for 'cabin dreams', another for decor ideas using twigs and branches. The only down side is that it gives you a bad case of cabin fever!  Here is a photograph of what looks like a cabin bedroom. This has been 'repinned' by more than 5,000 people. It appears a lot of folks would like to be sleeping in a cozy cabin just about now.

Source: 29.media.tumblr.com via Kay on Pinterest

Really old camp shirt

What's your oldest camp shirt? Mine is more than four decades old. OK so I'm dating myself, right? When I was 15, my dad bought this camp shirt for me. It's really not a camp 'shirt', it's a wool Pendleton-style shirt you wear as a fall jacket. At the time, he told me that I'd have this shirt forever. It's something you just keep for a long time. And he was right. There were many years when I was abroad, and many years when I never wore it. But it has lasted beautifully.

So after all this time, it's back in fashion. It's a blue and white 'Buffalo plaid' wool with a vintage straight fit. It keeps me toasty warm on these cool fall days. The label inside has my maiden name and 'camp nickname' still written in indelible marker. The commercial label reads "Rough Rider Clothing" by Woods Base Canvas Company Ltd., out of Toronto and Winnipeg, Canada. I can't find anything on-line about this company, so perhaps it went out of business. In any case, this year, after all these decades, it fits more beautifully than ever before. I put it on, and it keeps the chill away, and makes me think of my late father. How many times we raked leaves together and I'd be wearing this shirt. From now on, it's going to get a lot more use.

Migrations

The last weeks before we close up the cabin are here - it seems like we just got here. However, the leaves are turning fast now. The days and nights are cooling dramatically. We'll get a possible frost by the end of the week.

In our area, many seasonal camp owners have been gone for weeks. Now, the last of the summer people are departing for southern climes. We went to a bonfire the other night - circling the fire in camp chairs was a huge group of 'snowbirds' taking off in the next few days. They were already making plans to meet up at restaurants in Florida.

The birds in our 'stream' - Canada Geese, ducks, teals, herons and loons, are coming and going on their migration south...until this morning when shots rang out, announcing the beginning of bird hunting season. It was a rather noisy day here today, and I wonder if any more migrating birds will even bother stopping here, if they get the word that it's not a safe rest stop right now.

Up the lake, a couple of beavers are making a massive beaver hut. They slap the water when you get close to them. They're piling up carefully trimmed sticks and they're patting mud on the outside of it. They are clearly planning to stay over the winter.

Not us, though. Our cabin, like many others up here in the woods, is not made for wintering over. When the day comes to leave, we'll be more than ready. But the moment we get home, we'll start longing for next spring.