September 26, 2027
Last year as summer faded into autumn, I wondered how many of these seasons I had left. I have always reveled in the fall, the time to pull out my brown Chilean poncho which still carries a light scent of the wood fires Joel and I built in Rangeley to roast our hot dogs. Those were times of pure happiness for me. Joel might pull out his harmonica, one time starting a moose stampede (can you have a stampede of two?) toward us. We’ve called him the “moose whisperer” ever since. We would sit around that fire until stars filled the sky and even the woolen poncho let in the evening chill.
How I mourn that particular cabin, called the “Honeymoon Cabin,” in which we used to stay. It was smaller than the others on the lake and sat up on the hill, which allowed us to watch the moose arrive before dawn. They would kneel with their back ends sticking straight up in the air to eat their morning repast, looking for all the world as if they were praying. The first time I saw it, I fell in love with them. They are the goofiest looking animals I’ve ever encountered. But the first time a gigantic bull moose stuck his head out of the woods next to my car window, I knew I should never get too close!
That little cabin in the woods is what I long for this time of year. My mind rested there. Part of it was because all it had inside were the bare essentials (except for the big jetted tub, which may also be why it was called the Honeymoon), but the essentials were all we needed. From the moment I rose, made coffee in the old Mr. Coffee drip pot, and found a candle to light on the wooden table beneath the windows, I was in my element. I needed nothing more than a pen, my journal, and the shadows of the kneeling moose outside.
Sadly, much of the environment changed when the new owners of the camp that included our cabin started building. A two-story house went up between the honeymoon cabin and the lake. When Joel and I saw it, we were devastated. We have yet to find another place to escape to. Almost every day now I think about how to simplify our own home so that it contains only the essentials. Of course, living with someone who tends to hold onto things complicates the matter. But as I look around this room that’s been designated as mine, he is not the only one. The problem is how does one determine which pile of books is not essential?
So here I am as the trees turn once again into torches of flame. Perhaps they can teach me how to let go as they drop their leaves – let go of my longing for that cabin and let go of anything that keeps my home from feeling like it did, a sanctuary for simplicity, silence, joy, and wonder. I can always brew the coffee, light a candle, and find a way to put a wooden table under a window to write on. Maybe I’ll ask Joel to keep the harmonica since there is still a potential for a moose to come strolling out of the woods in the backyard!
