And it Begins

Retired crime lab DNA guy makes the quick switch to lumberjack

We arrived at the cabin two weeks and three days ago today, right on schedule.  And almost problem free except for the last 100 yards.  After 890 miles, we were stopped within sight of the cabin by two trees across the driveway -- it had been incredibly windy -- but with two chainsaws in the trailer, my husband made short work of clearing the up-road.  Soon we were unlocking the door to the next four months of our lives.  

First order of business, getting rid
of the now illegal outhouse --
and no, I was not inside at this moment

Thinking about it, it’s a bit more than that.  With my husband freshly retired, we are starting a whole new life routine spending four months staying cool in the Rockies and the balance primarily in the Sonoran desert near Tucson.  We envision at least one additional trip to the cabin in late fall for sure, and additional trips when it suits our fancy, though we will leave time for other travels.  It feels like the whole world, or at least the American West, has become our playground.  We intend to make the most of it.

We were extremely busy the first week, trying to get settled in the cabin, figuring out how it works, where to put things, how to get organized.  At less than 900 square feet, it’s important to have a place for everything and keep most things in their place most of the time.  It’ll take the rest of the summer, figuring out what we do and don’t need, and we will doubtlessly be carrying back a few totes of superfluous stuff.  I seem to have enough bedding for an army and children’s books that my husband’s grandkids have aged out of.  There’s enough space for what we need plus some, but I don’t want to drive myself crazy keeping track of and taking care of a surfeit of possessions.  

Our dear friend Harry, delivering our "Harry Bears"

We also spent happy time reconnecting with some of our friends up here.  Harry surprised us early on with two of his coveted “Harry Bears” -- carved by chainsaw and hand from local downed trees.  We were thrilled and they now keep vigil outside our front door.  We had neighbors over for dinners and breakfast in order to catch up and make a small dent in repaying the hospitality they showed us when we were living in the trailer.  

Home sweet home

Busy as we were, we found time for tending to and watching “our” birds.  The hands-down most stunning bird we’ve seen, new to us here (or anywhere), is the Evening Grosbeak.  This spectacular bird is paint-by-number black white and yellow.  We saw a male early on near the seed feeder, but it was not until this morning we saw him again.  He fed from both seed feeders, sat on the window sill for a moment, and then drank out of the dog’s water bowl!  With a lake and a creek a stone’s throw down the hill, a spring a hundred yards in the opposite direction, we were surprised that he’d drink from our deck, but we are certainly going to put out a dish of water for the birds from now on.  There seem to be dozens of Broad-tailed Hummingbirds doing aerobatics around and between our two feeders.  They are sucking down about half a gallon of sugar water a day, and are so anxious to drink that they will sit on your finger at the feeder if that’s the only way to get to a port.  Check out the bird list in the margin -- I’ll add to it as we identify more birds.

But there's always time for hammock therapy

Working on the bird list,
and if I turn my head to the left...

I get a clear view of the feeder,
here being visited by a
bronze-headed cowbird

The days are settling into a pleasant ritual.  After a cool night under the quilt, listening to the wind sighing through the pines, I wake up to coffee made and my husband sitting in front of a fire in the wood-burning stove, reading.  

One of the grandsons on his first visit
to the completed cabin, testing his rock
hopping skills (and our nerves)

After an hour (or two) watching the light change across the valley and the birds at the feeders, I make breakfast -- anything from peanut butter on whole grain toast to fresh local eggs, pancakes with blueberries and maple syrup -- and then we get on with our day.  For me that means continuing to sort out the cabin, maybe do a load or two of wash (the quest continues for clothes pins that can stand up to the Rocky Mountain breezes), always interrupted by checking out what’s at the bird feeders.  My husband has kept busy putting up shelves and mounting my antique hooks on boards to hang in the closet and being a good steward to the land which mainly means taking his chainsaw (you’ve heard of chainsaw therapy, right?) and clearing the deadwood from about 10 acres of the ponderosa pine/Douglas fir/juniper forest we live in.  Lunch is always a picnic on the front porch.  We’re not quite at our one hike a day quota, but we’re working on it, and every hike over the same trail yields new surprises in the wildflower department -- the best find so far were the pale pink shooting stars in a damp shady spot on our “round the block” (about 2 miles) walk.  Around 6 PM we have a beer or glass of wine on the shady side of the deck, watching the chipmunks and golden mantle ground squirrels scampering on the red rocks rearing up behind the cabin.  Dinner has been everything from roasted chicken to brats on the grill, and is always easy and relaxed.  If the evening is chilly we retreat to the couch, light a small fire and have hot cocoa; if the evening is mild we take a glass of wine and climb up to the swing on top of those red rocks with a view to the sunset and sit until we get too chilly to stay.  True dark comes late, about 9:30, but if we’re tired from our activities and the thin air found at 8,600 feet, we turn in at dusk with a book from our huge piles, and seldom get much reading done.

We really are filled with gratitude for this life, so special in so many ways, and are anxious to share it with our family and friends.

We're ON!

After all the years of "that's crazy, the trailer's good enough", the yearning for a wood burning stove to cozy up in front of, the desire for a bit more of a kitchen WITH running water (the outhouse never bothered me), and wanting enough space to have family and friends join us in a way we could all actually enjoy, last summer we made the decision to rebuild a cabin to replace the one that stood on this land from the mid-60's until the Hayman fire claimed it in 2002.

Honestly, there were a few things that made the decision easier.  My husband is no more than two years from retirement, and hopefully only one.  We'd spent enough years there in longish vacations in the trailer to know we both loved it and would be happy with the simple life of puttering, hiking, bird watching, and star gazing -- and sharing all of that with family and friends -- for the rest of our years to make the investment in money and the commitment in time.  Perhaps the clincher was my husband's grandsons, at five and seven old enough to know if they enjoyed their time in the mountains, and it was oh-so clear that they did -- from fort building in a rock outcropping down the hill to tirelessly hiking to the meadow and Karen's overlook and trails beyond, to crying half way back to Denver when it was time to leave, this was a way to give to them what my husband's children knew their whole lives, at least until the Hayman fire.  More time to look like something out of Where the Wild Things Are:

Our contractor, Brian Shelton, called this morning to say that the building permit would be in his hands come Monday and that work on the foundation would begin this coming week.  It's been over seven months since we first met with him up at the trailer, thinking then that we'd not be building until next year and later deciding not to wait.  This year will be the building year; next year the occupying year.  Hopefully we'll get a bit of time in the cabin before summer's end and are planning a week at Thanksgiving, but we have our fingers crossed that next summer will be the first summer of the rest of our lives, with months of time spent in the Colorado Rockies, getting used to the wonderful rhythms of life spent enjoying the long days at 8,600 feet.


By the time we get there, four weeks from today, there should be a foundation fully decked and lumber staged for the framing of the walls.  My husband will get to help raise those walls just as he did over four decades ago with his father, other family members, and neighbors.  After the nightmare of losing the original cabin, being part of rebuilding of the new cabin will be the fulfillment of a dream.