The cabin was bought fully furnished from an elderly couple who left behind what would now be considered valuable antiques. Two small bedrooms, replete with horsehair beds, a combination Glenwood wood/kerosene kitchen stove, a round golden oak drop-leaf table poised beneath a large section of windowpanes overlooking a screened-in porch, a curved-glass china cabinet. Depression era dishes were stacked on open kitchen shelves; warm woolen bedding, cotton sheets and quilts were folded neatly in open wooden cupboards. The bathroom was small but serviceable, a thick rectangle of well-worn mirror hung with clear plastic art nouveau style clips; a metal stall shower with grommeted cotton curtain. A small porcelain corner sink with a metal corner shelf poised above. Perched atop the buttermilk painted wooden cabinet, a matched set of the palest yellow and green celluloid brush, comb, hand mirror.
The sofa was circa 1940 and a lovely light shade of rose, with carved cherry wood feet and armrest ends. An upholstered wing-back chair, a braided oval rug. If you visited your grandparents and grew up in the 50’s like I did, you’d know how the place smelled of wool and must and mothballs, how carefully items were handled, stowed, preserved. Pots were aluminum, mixing bowls a glazed Pyrex glass. Even the silverware begged using, the round aluminum biscuit cutter with black wooden knob handle. The serrated bread knife, stamped tin baking pans, a round plastic black and white kitchen timer. A yellowing if accurate electric wall clock.
Every morning except in winter, I woke to the lilting cry of loons and stumbled out to sun arcing through white pine and hemlock as it rose over the cabin, shedding golden light on the mountains the other side of the narrows. Every evening around four, the sun began its descent behind those same hills and the evenings cooled some ten degrees to accommodate comfortable sleeping. Then out to the small porch where I’d banked a single bed on a metal frame against the logs of the cabin wall, loaded it with several pillows as backrests, and sat sublime and attentive in the flickering of candlelight. Senses tuned to waves gently lapping rocky shoreline; birds ruffling feathers as night descended with a familiar finality.
Then as the moon rose over the water, as that shaft of light bounced and played and fanned the calming surface, a billion stars blazed overhead like carefully contained fireworks, seeding themselves in the black infinity of heaven.
Goose Pond sunset
