Inquiring Minds Want to Know

In the past week I have had several request to see the cabin. I am nothing if not accommodating to my vast readership and so have decided to dedicate this post to our north woods hideaway, otherwise known as the “Man Camp.”

When we first unlocked the front door on that rainy, dreary day two weeks ago, the look on my face would have said it all. I was expected to stay HERE for TWO weeks. I wasn’t certain I could make it a weekend. A search soon uncovered a bucket and mop; the entire camp was scrubbed and the bedding washed. I know, I know, the cleaning crew had just left and it’s not that I didn’t trust them to do their job; it’s just that this was not the Hilton and I was taking no chances.

Now why the “Man Camp” you ask? Perhaps it is the bare plywood floor, or the snowmobile helmets hanging on the living room wall.

Maybe it’s the worn black leather couch rescued from someone’s basement, or the Genesee Cream Ale wind chimes that hang proudly on the wall.

Could it be the black lacquer bar stools that serve no purpose? There is no bar, nor is there a table. (There is no room for a table.) One must dine on the deck or eat seated at the scratched and worn coffee table while watching the large television hanging proudly on the wall, the focal point of the room.

And then there are the theatre seats covered in black vinyl tucked into the corner by the door. There is a footstool, and we have dubbed it the recliner. It is where I sit typing and working on photos. It may be the most comfortable spot in the place.

The bedrooms are small, tiny, miniscule. Queen size beds fill the space leaving just enough room on either side to avoid the having to crawl in from the foot.

But it’s a camp, on a lake, in Maine, what did I expect? These cabins are used year round. People come here to ride their ATVs and snowmobile and ice fish in the winter. Rugged outdoor things. Men things.

Over the course of the last two weeks I have grown to love our lowly cabin on the lake. Ok, maybe love is too strong, but I have grown accustomed to its face. Because once you step outside, the cabin becomes insignificant. The view of the lake is amazing. Small boats dart back and forth over the clear water. The birch and evergreen encircle the lake in an effort to protect this pristine haven from the burdens of the outside world. It is just what I imagined when I pictured two weeks in Maine on a lake. Life is good.

(But I could recommend a decorator.)