Times When

Aren't there times when you feel like heading off into the mountains and finding that little one room cabin on the lake in the woods where there is peace? No politics, wars, crime, greed, Hollywood. Living in an urban area is like living in an incubator. Constant notices come out to tell you that the water system is being purged, the streets are being cleaned, the power lines will be pruning, the electricity folk will add new poles and on and on. It's not that all these things aren't necessary to make our lives, supposedly better, but sometimes I feel over attended and crave a place where I am the one who does the maintenance. My dream is that small cabin, outhouse notwithstanding, and its fireplace, a small heater, one table and chair, one bed with a pine branch mattress and a big cozy quilt, a circle rug I braided  out of old clothing, and a huge willow branch chair facing the window with its view of the lake. Old jeans make good cushions stuffed with dried grasses and pine. Can you see it? There is a verandah, of course, and an outdoor shower with a spigot bucket system, and  inside, a pail of water cum dipper hung on the wall near the wash stand with its multi-purpose basin. The stream running down to the lake is a friend for fresh, cold water and for use as a laundry. I forage for green edibles amongst the trees and take my canoe out to fish. Fish is smoked over the fire outside and  dried on racks above the little stove. Berries sere and fragrant evergreen branches and herbs hang from the beams. It is all idyllic but I  hear cynics reminding me of the day when I cut myself while gutting the fish or chopping food, or becoming lonely and hermit mad. But I will take my chances. Naturally, to get here, I need my diesel truck which is also good for hauling wood to chop and getting supplies to keep on the home built shelves in the cabin. Its radio serves for emergencies. I especially love my fire pit out front, the one that burns wood with real flame and smoke. not the silly gas things on patios. At night, I hear other animals, not me, that enjoy the lake: deer, bear, cougar and others that deserve my respect and who show me their curiosity when I see  tracks across my porch and paw marks on the beach trail and nose prints on my log cabin windows. Excuse me, I have to go out and chop more firewood, there is a storm brewing tonight on the lake. My log cabin and thick shake roof, will withstand the pounding thunder, flashes of lightning and driving rains but I will I enjoy my books and mug of hot chocolate, watching it come over the lake just beyond and below my window.