The Cabin

For just over a year the word home was known as 150 pristine acres of Cross Country Skiing land that held an absurdly large log house or a girl and her dog, heated by wood with the luxury of a Yoga Studio (where the dining room table used to reside) and a hot tub. At the end of February, I packed the last of my books and moved, quite literally, down the road to The Cabin in which I will stay in until my contract ends in exactly three months. Both experiences have quite educational, to say the least.

With no internet and television to entertain myself, I’ve found other ways to entertain myself. I’m currently growing herbs in my scarf shaded window and have taken a more modest approach to living on the Bearhead Road. I have the lovely view with my morning coffee on a small porch in which I create my weekl(ishy) blogs and grab a coffee in the ‘Hoof to justly stealing internet to post them and check out my email and keep track of my banking (Megan had aiding my adulating setbacks by paying my monthly phone bill using my Mastercard). My pastimes include a whole lot of running on the dirt road and I’ve been blowing through books with immaculate speed. I’m currently reading Spinster by Kate Bolick in which I have an incredible itch to discuss the dualities of gender and what this means to me. My landlord is wonderful as she too, a recent widow, lives alone with her dog. Birds of a feather flock together, I suppose.

 

I really am quite happy living in The Cabin, although I’m not sure I could do it forever. The windows don’t open, which means my door stays open the majority of the time and the stove heats the entire house within half a minute, which is annoying with the recent hot weather, I keep telling myself that if I’ve survived Peru, I can survive my humid, airless Cabin. I don’t think I’ll have internet or television at the next place that I live, however, as I anticipate living in the city for the next while, movie theaters and internet cafes will be readily available.

I'm a huge advocate of smaller living.  My sister, Shawna and her husband are in the process of building a Tiny House. I don't think it's necessary to go as small as my house, or as their tiny house, but personally, it's made me realize that it certainly isn't required to go as large as most houses are. Less is more. I've realized what I can live without: extra plates, bulk food, a kitchen table, but also what I need to live: Storage for my shoes (currently residing in the drawer under my oven), a bathroom door (yeah...). I know now, that with a small house, you need a place for everything, so it needs to be built with a bit more foresight or where, such things as your broom is going to be stored.

Regrettably, with living so close to the road The Cabin was believed to be open to the Public, as I came home yesterday to the door happily swinging in the wind, as someone seemed to help themselves to my beer and two old iPods. Thankfully, I have nothing of value here, as I had my phone and laptop with me and they weren’t interested in my wine or passport and it seems that nothing else was taken, except I’m left with the feeling of being roughly exposed and oddly violated; it will take me several days for The Cabin to feel safe again.

I remember the first time I drove down the Bearhead Road, exhausted after a ten hour drive, seeking a bear head silhouette which marked my new address with a wood stove and makeshift yoga studio. It’s a bit surreal that a road once so new has now become a bit of me. With my job, I was granted my first ever helicopter ride. When they asked me where I lived, I didn’t direct them to The Cabin, although I am very much attached to the 300 square feet of space, I still walk bits of the 150 acres of the place that I’ll call home, so that's

where I asked them to take me.

Kindly,

Kirstin

Bigger life, smaller wardrobe.