the cabin

a paper i wrote for english that i thought my family would appreciate. a lot of the juicy details were left out because it had to only be a page and a half long.

As a child a two-hour car ride feels more like two weeks, but the time spent at our cabin was well worth it. I always got excited when we passed the general store on the side of the road because it meant we were almost there. Pulling in was bumpy and rough because the ground was covered in lots of rocks. As soon as my mom would turn off the car I would jump out and leap on to my old tire swing. My family had brought this tire up from the river to create this fun play toy that would keep me entertained for hours. As fun as it was, every time I got off I was always covered in black marks. As I swung on the tire swing by myself I felt a fairy. It was forested all around me with dead trees and moss everywhere. I could hear the river from up the hill where our log cabin was. The cool, bitter wind blew through my childish curls.
Once my mom had finished unpacking the car I would follow her inside. It was always chilly when you first walked in because no one had been there for a while, so my mom always immediately turned on the heater. Inside the cabin I took every step very lightly for fear of making the floor shake or creek too loudly. The furniture was rough and old, the carpet gray and faded, although one would expect that after fifty years. The kitchen and the living room were one area with a wood stove, a couch and coffee table, a VCR with antennas that stuck out like enormous bug feelers, a table and a moveable island with a cutting board on top. The kitchen had high cupboards where old, and I mean old, food mixes are displayed, originally to keep our aging great grandfather from eating them, but now just for show. This was all the cabin consisted of for a number of years until it was built on to with a hallways, bathroom, and bedroom.
Outside of the bathroom in the hallway was a full size bed that I claimed to be mine. I loved this bed with a passion. I would jump into it and sink so deeply like falling into a pool of feathers, although it probably felt this way because it was so old.
Though I was crazy about my tire swing and bed, the river was my favorite. Just a short walk down hill led to a beautiful view of the huge mountain across the river where on certain days you could spot flocks of mountain goats with binoculars. The river had a rock beach where my brother and I would spend hours searching for flat rocks and teaching ourselves to skip them. If we were lucky we got to go down to the cabin in late August-early September. This was fish season, which to us meant finding dead fish washed up on the banks. As gruesome as this sounds, we would find sticks and walk up and down the beach poking at every fish that we could find. If their eyes were still there we would poke at them until they gushed and oozed. This event was definitely the highlight of the trip.
One time, when I was very young, my grandma came down to the cabin with us. As a girl she had come here often so she knew all of the “secret places”. One cool afternoon, we strolled down the river to a place she called the “fairy trail”. She took me to a creek that ran through it and told me that if you waited and watched very quietly you could catch a glimpse of fairies splashing in the water. Each time I return to the sacred spot, I always take the time to sit and wait a while searching for these creatures but I have yet to spot one. Someday I will though, I know it.
Every year we go there fewer and fewer times. Each time it remains exactly the same, the furniture doesn’t move, the food on the shelf doesn’t change, and my bed is still as comfortable. Each year though I change, but coming back to this magical place always reminds me of who I am and where I came from.