My father's side are the hunters. So the cabin walls hold big game antlers, a deer head, and mounted fish. The cabin was built in the 1950s. It is a repository of family memories and ancient crockery at the end of the road of summer cabins north of Mammoth Lakes. You hear the creek everywhere. And this year it was burgeoning.
The creek is always cold from snowy run-off. But live water is part of the terrain. We wash dishes with it, boil it to drink, and shower under it. When we talk about the cabin, we talk about the creek.
Unfolding from the driver's seat in the dark of the dirt road and in the light of the porch, you breathe pine. And the screen door opens and Nancy comes out and the screen door slams. The sound of the screen door, the rush of the creek, and the snap of the fire.
And every day Donn and mother look for clouds. The family is a family of photographers and clouds are a must. I lay the spiderweb quilt on my up-at-the-top-of-the-stairs bed. It was made for an attic bedroom. The screened window is a frame of trees. Three chamber pots remain. (The outhouse was not used by me; we used the inside bathroom, a room I was previously unfamiliar with.)
Mother found an attractive walking stick the first day. I applauded her spartan resourcefulness. We enjoyed the hearth every night. Every morning Donn turned on the gas stove to warm the kitchen. I feel like I ate mostly bread and cookies (the shortbread chocolate chip!) from Schat's Bakery. I was pleased to regale my audience with stove-popped corn one afternoon. Donn made cracked wheat sourdough French toast. Nancy presented her orange ginger salmon with wild rice, steamed squashes, and avocado papaya salad. We had ice cream every night. Donn did not convert me to Thrifty strawberry cheesecake and I did not convert him to chocolate malted crunch. We learned to play Spite and Malice from Nancy. We watched the slide show Donn made for Selina's funeral. Mother and I both finished our books. I took movies of the creek. We spoke of our generations, living under the roof of a sometime home. And the generations slide further down the creek.
4 comments:
Beautiful California mountains. I can hear the creek rolling by! Great photos honey!!
I love being immersed in nostalgia and sentimentality. I know, I'm a mess. What's the use of a screen door if it doesn't slam? I'm very curious about the mysterious indoor potty... hidden from the kids at some point, perhaps?
the bathroom was always there. however, we never used the bathroom. it was off-limits with the explanation of sewage horrors. most did use the out-house in years prior. i can only hope the sewage was updated between the time i used the outhouse and the time i didn't. otherwise, the mind reels.
pictures are postcard worthy. lovely.
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