The Wellspring of Inspiration

Where does inspiration come from?

Is it a sudden desire, a leap of faith? The first time I saw my husband on his land I knew this was an integral part of who he was. Brokenhearted over the loss of the cabin a few years earlier in the Hayman fire, his first visit back was the first time he'd seen the land without the cabin in over four decades, and it was a tough homecoming. By morning I knew he needed this place in his life again. Surveying the surroundings from the rocky outcrop above the old cabin site, I was ready to help make that happen, for him, for us.

Is inspiration an outgrowth of experience? When we decided to make the considerable investment (and I use that term loosely as the cabin will never be sold -- just enjoyed, shared, and handed on) to rebuild the family cabin it was after four years of experiencing weeks living the simple life -- no phone (cell or otherwise), no Internet, no television, no mail, no stores without a serious trek. Just us, our five acres, and seemingly endless wilderness, enough to get lost in (and I have), and we loved it, more every year. We couldn't get enough of it, even without running water or indoor plumbing. We were certain we wanted all of the rest of the summers of our lives on this hillside in the Rocky Mountains.

Is inspiration something that percolates up from your subconscious? How was it that within an hour of making what felt like a seemingly sudden decision I was able to sit down and sketch out a cabin that was quite similar to the drawings and specifications we've just put out to bid after a month of working on them? Were we processing the possibility all those years in the trailer, all the time saying "no way, this is fine"?

Is inspiration a pull from the past, a desire to recapture a time or a dream from your personal history, bring it to fruition for yourself and to share with those you love? I had a brief summer, my 21st, at a cabin in the mountains outside of San Diego. Fully indoctrinated in an appreciation for beautiful landscapes by my father who made Sunday roadtrips a family tradition, I've found love of place a determining factor my whole life. Here I am at that cabin (sitting in the plaid shirt) with my parents, my best beloved grandmother, and my sis.


In order to come up with the floor plan for the cabin, I had to visualize us in it. As it's small, by desire and by necessity, we had to think about what mattered most and how we were going to live in it and share it. I thought about other small places I'd enjoyed in my life and how they worked.

I was swept back to my grandmother's apartment, upstairs in the family home in Dearborn. Her biggest room was the kitchen/dining room. The treadle Singer sewing machine that she spent so much time at making me clothes shared the space. There was a corner hutch in the dining room, and always, on the table big enough to seat all five of us, there was a cheerful cloth with borders of fruit or flowers. I couldn't get the idea of those tablecloths out of my mind and went in search of vintage linens online. And they're out there. Well, not so many as before as I now have a nice little collection of them. The heavy smooth cotton, comforting spring colors, and patterns of abundance reminded me of a time when a carefully pressed and optimistic tablecloth was a sufficient decoration in a working kitchen -- no granite countertops or high end appliances required. Since the cabin will be primarily a summer retreat, I'm finding myself drawn to simple materials and playful colors, as carefree as we hope to be when we're there.

Is inspriation an effort to restore a family tradition for my husband and his children and other family, and to create a new tradition for us? Continuity is a powerful thing. There'd been a vacuum in my husband's life since the cabin burned. The trailer provided a means to an end, maintaining a relationship with the land, which is even more important than the abode that sits on that land. My husband's father was an excellent steward of the land, as well as the community of which the land is a part. Since returning to the land post-Hayman Fire, my husband has cleared burned trees and planted nearly 200 seedlings and young trees, more to replace those lost to beetles than to fire (blessedly few). He tends his land well and is a good neighbor and is following in his father's stewardship footsteps.


Inspiration grows out of all that we've been, experienced, and dreamed. It can be an outgrowth of the shared aspirations and desires of someone you love. My husband wants this huge part of life back, for himself, for me, for his family, and to honor a promise he made to his parents to never let the family retreat go. I'm going to do all I can to make certain that he gets it, and gets it with our own inspired spin.