This Is Why

You would think I'd be upset.

Who in their right mind would want to sell a perfectly good home to go live in a cabin? Did I mention it's a small cabin? Like in - teeny-tiny. Like in -you can brush your teeth at the sink while taking a crap, simultaneously opening the window and keeping an eye out for the hot dogs to boil on the kitchen stove. No dishwasher, bath tub, washer/dryer, garage, or dividing walls (except for the bathroom where the restricted size has improved my contortionist skills remarkably).

(Rest assured, this will all change when we make the permanent move. There will be walls and modern appliances and privacy and room for company.)

But it all sounds horrible, right?

Well, I haven't even mentioned that this cabin is located in another state and twelve miles from the nearest McDonald's, Dollar General, bank, post office, grocery or gas station. Unless you count the peeling white convenience store down on J Hwy where the Hostess Cupcakes may or may not have expired in 2010. The proprietor looks as though he has spread biscuits and gravy on his head and let wild dogs eat it off. Repeatedly. And his ever-present wife resembles Lulu from Hee Haw. One can't help but notice her apron hasn't been washed since she screwed up the mashed 'taters last Thanksgiving.

Another thing...in the spring, gnats have you for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. Accompanied by an occasional mad hornet, blood-sucking ticks, green-eyed flies and mosquitos that are out to get your mojo. There are also rumors of mountain lions, bears and bobcats. Throw in a few rattle snakes, annoying armadillos and an isolated Big Foot sighting - and that pretty much describes my dream home.

I know. Wow.

Why would I want to move there?

Well, I haven't told you the part about how the pine trees whisper sweet songs when the wind blows. And the huge oaks bend down and shade the yard while tiny wrens poke at invisible worms. How the sunsets are like soft melted sherbet. And how in the evening, the sky lights up with stars, tossed against the blackness like gallons of glitter. How wild iris's poke their purple heads up around the creek bed, as cool water flows over smooth rocks in a musical rhythm. How deer linger by the wood pile each morning while we quietly watch them from the screened porch, and the new fawns jump and play by the honeysuckle. I haven't told you about the dogwoods in the spring- how you can see them shining through the woods like puffs of delicate cotton. How wild turkeys race across the meadow with confident clucks and the sky is so clear and blue that it makes your heart cry. I haven't told you the part about finding rocks and hunting mushrooms and walking in the woods without a compass. How blackberries grow near the gate and persimmons glow golden in the autumn. How fragrant the bonfires are late in the year... the dry leaves burning in a smoky pile. Sticky s'mores and red wine and flannel shirts. Stacking firewood in neat piles, cooking maple bacon on the old electric stove and making sure the camo is all washed up and ready for a hunt. It's hard to describe the feeling of an old quilt on a too-small bed, of snuggling in front of the fireplace with a good book, of waking up before the sun does in anticipation of the day. I haven't told you about how I feel closer to God here than anywhere else on earth. That I feel blessed and loved and privileged to be part of this immense beauty. How I can find utter joy in walking down a dusty path, admiring the colors of the leaves, or simply listening to the silence. It's a magic place where I feel connected, empowered, and embraced.

That's why.