The Cabin
by Lindy Brummer
I stepped out of the old rustic cabin, feeling fresh from waking up. With my headlamp on the brightest tone, we started ahead on our journey up the hill. I breathed in the cold, crisp, icy air of the surrounding wilderness. It was early January, with Butters and Potato racing ahead, and Emma and I were trekking up the hill. The wind was blowing flaky snow brutally against our already numb faces. As the sun started to rise above the mountains, we stopped to munch on some crackers. Prepared for the long day ahead, I had packed lots of food, my hiking poles, spikes, and two bottles of water. The hope was that Emma, the pups, and I would be summiting the tallest mountain around, Cedar Ridge Peak, all in one day, explaining the 5 a.m. start.
“Did you bring all your gear?” said Emma. “Yes!” I exclaimed. “I also packed some fresh baked cookies.”
As we ascended, not only up the mountain, but in our thoughts, I started to get even more excited for the peak. We neared an ice cliff and got out our climbing gear. We flew up, panting and stopping for lunch at the top. My thin brown hair blew in the wind, and the sun was beating down on us, making the snow twinkle. I reached for the dog bowl and gave the pups some food and water. They devoured their kibble and scrambled in circles around us, their paws frozen like ice balls, signaling they were ready to keep going.
We packed up and figured it would be a couple more hours until the top.
When we were in sight of the top, we sprinted up and nearly collapsed from laughter. When we caught our breath, I got out the cardboard sign that I had labeled CEDAR RIDGE PEAK with a Sharpie and asked a man standing near us to take a photo.
The rest of the winter I spent perfecting my cookie recipe for the coming summer. For the last 10 years, I have been handing out fresh-baked cookies to people along the trail. It was my special tradition. I would make the batter the night before and then bake them in the morning. Although I’d been doing this for many years now, I still found ways to improve the recipe. I had become well known by locals as “the cookie lady,” and many tourists looked forward to my cookies. It gave me motivation to keep doing it every year, because meeting new people from all over makes me happy.
When the snow began to melt, I prepared my homemade cookie cart (specially made to roll on the rocks down the trail from the cabin). The day I had been so excited for was almost here.
I woke up and bounded down the stairs like a bouncy ball. I excitedly preheated the oven to 375 degrees and made my coffee. As I stepped outside, the frigid air and warm sun greeted me. I placed the cookies in the oven and waited. When the timer dinged and the cookies were cooled, I gently put them in my cart and started down the trail with Butters and Potato. I noticed the clouds rolling in and some sprinkles starting to drop. I pulled out my raincoat and put up the cart’s umbrella. When we arrived at the stop, I admired the scenery, the crisp mountain air weaving the morning pine scent mist into my thoughts, and the wind blowing the little violet asters against the grass.
I spied a hiker in the distance, not realizing it was Harrison on his way back from washing up at the lake. “Hazel!” he yelled, “We need to get back immediately!” The wind was picking up very strongly. I swiftly packed everything up and began speed hiking back up the trail. With my cart bumping vigorously against the rocks, dropping all the plastic plates and spatulas, it made me panic. With the dogs all over my face, it was hard to pick anything up. Harrison rushed over and helped me. Some rain started to drop, at first tiny droplets, but then huge ones. We struggled up the trail, forcing the cart over rocks and roots. The rain turned into hail, the little puncturing balls of ice pounding down on us. As the hail picked up to nearly golf ball size, it showed no sign of slowing down. Finally, we were in sight of the cabin and rushed in behind the dogs.
“So much for cookies,” I said. “I am exhausted.”
“Me too.”
I made some toast and plopped down on the couch. All the stress was creeping into me about my parents coming next week. I still had to arrange the flights and transportation to the trail, and then where they would be staying. There was only one room available in this cabin, and it had no insulation.
Over the next two days, the blizzard kept going. We stayed inside, and when it was time for my parents to come, the snow magically started to slow down. The snow slowed to a trickle, with flakes falling every now and then. My parents’ plane successfully landed, and they drove to the trailhead. I giggled as I imagined a scene of them gingerly stepping out of the car, wondering if the snow was going to attack them. At home, I prepared the couch for them. They were currently living in Florida, so I also slid over a couple of heaters near the beds and added three extra blankets. I grabbed two extra puffies, two pairs of snowboots, two pairs of snowpants, and my hiking poles. I stuffed them in a backpack and went down the trail to pick them up with the dogs. They were sitting in the car, smiling and waving. I gave them the gear and they put it on, shivering the whole while. We started the four-mile hike back up to the cabin and caught up on life. Because there was no service at the old cabin, and we didn’t go into town that often, it was hard to stay in touch with everyone. Their stay was super fun. We went sledding, skied, and went for hikes in the snow, enjoying hot chocolate and marshmallows. One day, we also hiked into town and went shopping at the downtown markets, and hiked back to the cabin.
When we got back to the cabin after my parents left, we locked back into reality. We borrowed gear from Emma to repair our shed. The shed and gear were necessities out here. Because it was where we kept all of our stuff, it was hard to survive without the basics, like a shovel. While Harrison gathered lost gear, I collected fallen trees and branches to use as wood for rebuilding the shed. On the positive side, our shed needed a redo anyway. The dogs also found a way to help, which was giving us breaks and pulling us in the sled.
We rebuilt the shed, insulated the guest room, and bought new gear. We basically restarted from the storm. In a way, we found a way to appreciate the storm. It helped us find ways to improve, like make the structure of the shed more stable, or insulate the guest room so it was warm in emergencies. We learned and adapted because we had no other choice. However, we didn’t notice that the people in town were having a harder time adjusting to the storms. The storms still hit them, but they had more resources and backups. When a storm destroyed something, they simply rebuilt it. They rebuilt in a way that improved nothing. This led to fewer hikers over the summer. It was truly devastating. We saw fewer and fewer people, fewer and fewer visitors, and shops began closing down. Our town was being destroyed because people did not know how to improve. They only knew to do the same as they had before. In the summer of 2010, I turned 40, and Harrison and I had been married for 10 years.
I no longer thrived while handing out cookies along the trail. I only survived. I was heartbroken. I thought of how much fun I had with Butters and Potato, handing out cookies on warm, sunny summer days, meeting new people, making new friends, throwing sticks, and swimming in streams just for fun. Now, it seemed like this had all gone away. I only did what I needed to do.
I had to come up with a plan.
I got together with Emma and shared my thoughts. We decided to get a group from town together to go on a hike on Wednesdays. We hung up signs across town in hot pink and sky blue colors. That first Wednesday, only three people showed up. We had a great time, and told them to invite friends. We put up more signs around town for the following Wednesday. Every time, our turnout doubled from the last time. I started bringing cookies on the hikes, too. I enjoyed this time with the locals and looked forward to it every week.
On these Wednesdays, I took the dogs. Although Butters and Potato were slow and old, I still enjoyed taking them along.
And I went back to handing out cookies alongside the trails.
