Something of a drink – what I’ve been given during my stay. The floors creak, the old 116 year old cabin smells like an antique. There’s a hum coming from somewhere, and the floors creak. There’s no sneaking around this house.
Here I am. Not sure what to expect – life unscripted. Spontaneity led me here but I don’t think that’s why I’m here. It smells old – the air has been here for a while, and they say it’s haunting. Three children buried at the doorstep. Creaking floors, noisy windmills. Children laughing.
I’m not sure what to expect. I feel a lot of things. A black and white cat prowls in the distance. I feel pressured by time. By light, by opportunities to inhale.
But while these things exist I feel this is real, not plastic. Not suddenly made to fill a void or exist to serve a material purpose. The emptiness, the imperfections, the natural beauty, I will discover something here.
A woman takes a picture of her daughter, these creaky floors, my scattered thoughts now a permanent image behind her. The sound of gravel smashed by rubber tires, then gently flung as their SUV drives away. It’s closing time and I still smell something old. The air entering my nose and my mouth, breathing this age. The air brushes against my chapped lips, feeling it’s becoming a part of me. Acclimation. I’m supposed to be here. I will discover something.
No visual comforts, no plush seating. Wood – and a lot of it. An old black pot belly stove sits with me in the cabin – embossed “IMP’D 1883” below its belly. The original footprint of my residence for the night must have only been 14 feet squared, but additional room has obviously been built on to the back of the cabin. A 200 square foot home with just as much floor space in the “attic” bedroom. With walls that must speak so intetly I cannot hear, and floors that creak with every thought I make.
“Lights fade, stars appear. Evening angels gather here.” Written on the back of the bed. The cat is calico and continues to wander in the distance. She still doesn’t know that I exist.
I’ll soon make my way to town so I can say that I did something other than smell this old air and peer out its windows. I’ll have plenty of time to spend with it later, when the lights fade and stars appear, and the three evening angels buried here…
I think I know why I don’t like mirrors, or why I don’t look into them often. Because I’m afraid I’ll see something that I wouldn’t see without it. I hear a cow nearby but there don’t seem to be any. Huh.
Elise Peese… have to look her up.
Rather than traveling to town tonight I decided to stay in. There is some food in the kitchen – not much but it will do. You know, being in this place makes me feel like it’s a sin to use a computer to write. There’s a very “dense” feeling to this place. Empty, but dense. Is that possible?
It’s now morning. As I awoke I noticed how much light was sneaking into the cabin through holes, cracks, gaps. The walls, the door frames, the floors. The entire second “floor” is only 3/4″ thick. It’s hard to believe when you’re up there. You think you’re standing on logs. So stiff.
It was a quiet and pleasant stay. I’m glad I didn’t go into town. Seemed a short stay, but what in this life that’s enjoyable isn’t short? One thing – just one – that I can think of, and that’s how fast (or slow) time passes while sleeping. When you have control over time and what’s short and what’s not.
Isn’t it great how inconveniences can be so beautiful? The sinks here have two spickets apiece. One “hot” and one “cold”. Out of one you get scalding hot water, and out of the other you get ice cold water. Whoever thought to join the two taps is a genius, but has really ruined the reality of life – without the conveniences that spoil us.
So what did I discover after all of this? Fume blanc! It’s selective in the thoughts it lets you think. Last night it didn’t seem as impressed with this cabin as much as I was. After drinking the entire bottle I was just that – blanc – last night. My thoughts and senses of this place ceased, and the wine had be think of other things in my dreams, where life is not short. Very selective. Very reflective. Or maybe that’s just my particular relationship with wine.
Becker Vineyards – will always hold a special place in my lungs. I highly suggest their Bed and Breakfast.