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The cabin has always been called just that, “the cabin.” It was as though there was only one in the entire world. To my family there was. These are the stories about the cabin. MORE
The deer head has been at the cabin for at least 20 years. I knew my father hung it on the wall, but I never asked where it came from. He wasn’t a hunter and although some of my cousins are, the only evidence of their hunts is in their freezers.
Read MoreOver the weekend, I drove up to the cabin for a day to help with some roadwork. We worked on the steep stretch of road between the first gate and the hairpin turn where the cow is. As we dug a ditch for rainwater and filled in the big rut already there, Gina stood back and said, “I can’t believe your father drove a Porsche up this road.”
Read MoreOn the few occasions when my grandfather wasn’t at the cabin to cook breakfast for us and my father was entrenched in a project by the time we were ready to eat we had to fend for ourselves. That usually meant cereal.
Read MoreAt the cabin, my grandfather was a short-order cook extraordinaire: frying potatoes, toasting bread over an open flame and cooking eggs by the dozen without ever breaking a yolk—and in cast iron skillets no less.
Read MoreBreakfast is the most important meal of the day at the cabin. We eat it mid-morning and it keeps us going all day.
Read MoreLast month we spent the weekend splitting wood, which was fine by me because the only thing I love more than stacking firewood is splitting it.
Read MoreIt smelled like Christmas. Sawdust floated through the air like snow flurries. The speed and agility of the lumberjacks manifested the same sort of awe as the image of Santa coming down the chimney with a sack full of presents.
Read MoreI asked Jack to finish this sentence: When I think of the cabin, I think of BLANK.
We both agreed it was WORK. It was work when my grandfather and his brothers carved out the original footprint. It was work when my father built our cabin alongside his father. It is the work we do to maintain the cabin every time we visit.
Read MoreI’ve always loved arriving at the cabin at night. I love stopping at the bottom of the road to unlock the gate…the swirl of dust in the headlights…the smell of sweet earth and bay…the cabin appearing after the last turn in the road.
Read MoreThere are 22 doors at the cabin. Most are locked, some by padlocks—the original locks rendered useless by lost keys or tumblers jiggled loose long ago.
Read MoreChili is one of my go-to, make ahead recipes for a quick trip to the cabin.
Read MoreWe went to the cabin at the end of last month for the first time since fall. The first weekend of the year is always the best and the worst.
Read MoreThe cabin story is a story of four Narlock men, their families and a never-to-be-fully-tamed 153 acres in the remote reaches of Mendocino County.
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