There are a lot of BIG things to love about our Cabin in Vermont.
There’s the heritage –
We are celebrating its 75th anniversary next week with a family reunion.
There are the patchwork views and sunsets –
There’s the quiet of being in the middle of 100 acres, when the only sound is the rustling of leaves in the wind or the chatter of birds in the trees.
But sometimes it’s the little things that really make the cabin The Cabin.
It’s knowing the correct order of window opening to get them all open at the same time.
It appreciating the old Frigidaire that keeps on chugging
and how along with a random (and rarely changed) cartoon or kid’s artwork there’s the note from my Mom explaining the correct settings for proper operation!
Don’t miss the faded final comment – DON’T SHUT OFF! (Who know’s if it will start again?)
It’s how we still keep a couple of my grandmother’s cookbooks in the little bookcase, even though we rarely pull them out to find a recipe.
But if we do take a look, we find the following inscription –
(Franklin being my doctor grandfather!).
But today I was struck with a new small thing that made me again wonder at the history of this special place we have been blessed with. I was raking up some yard mess onto our “drop cloths” (honest, we have a drawer that’s marked – “Drop cloths”!) Basically they are old sheets that have already been “restructured” by being cut down the middle and then the two edges sewn together (hey, there’s still lots of good sheet left on the edges even if the middle gets worn down, right?). Perhaps they lived a good life down in town before they came up to become cabin sheets, and I’m sure I slept under them in my youth. Now, however, they’ve become “drop cloths”. But this time I saw something new. There, just along the edge was a name tag, hand written in my grandmother’s steady printing –
Stanley was my Dad’s older brother who was tragically killed (along with his three sons) in a train – car wreck in 1952. I wonder if these were sheets that had been labeled before he went off to camp one summer. Or maybe off to basic training? I’ll never know, and I don’t think it’s really important that I do. But it was a very poignant reminder of the history that is in this place.
Yes, the small things.
The treasured things.