Alone in the Forest

 One of the questions I get asked the most when people find out that my husband passed away is, "Are you going to stay in your cabin? Aren't you afraid of being out in the middle of the forest all by yourself?"

Short answer is, "Yes. I'm staying in our cabin."

Because how can I leave it?

We'd looked for land for several years before we found this place, weirdly just three miles from where we were already living, but we'd never driven down this little road in all of our weekly drives all over the countryside in a 100-mile radius looking for "the one."

The listing hit the interwebs and I drove the three miles and I knew. I knew before I even stepped foot on it that this was our place. I called the realtor before I called my husband, and I told my husband that if it was as nice as I thought it was, there would be no "discussing and getting back to the realtor", we would sign the papers right there on the hood of his pickup truck, and he couldn't say no- because it was my birthday. 

We designed the cabin, and I was here for every single nail being hammered. When they poured the slab, we made sure we put our handprints in it. After all the big stuff that only young people (and/or professionals) should do, we finished it out ourselves. Sealing, staining, tiling, painting...all of it.

And it's perfect. The perfect size and layout, maybe not for most people, but was perfect for the three of us. 

And still perfect for me.

As for being afraid out here in the middle of the forest, I can say confidently that I've never been afraid in the forest in my life, no matter where it was.

When I was a small child, at my grandparents' shared cabin in central Wisconsin, I loved the pine forest that surrounded the cabin, even though it was a planted pine plantation. Without other kinds of trees in the way, you could stand in the middle of it, close your eyes and hear "the train in the wind" and your footsteps fell silent on the softest bed of pine needles, because anything with crunchy leaves was acres away.

During my teen years, I'd spend weeks in the summer at my grandparents' "new" cabin. I'd get up in the morning, pack a lunch, take my little Sheltie, and we'd legitimately try to get lost on the winding back roads of central Wisconsin, sometimes cross-country through the pine plantations. 

As a young adult, I was first a camp counselor, then camp director, for our council's Girl Scout day camp. I loved the big log lodge with its free-form rock fireplace- the one in our cabin is styled as a miniature of that staid old dragon. 

Do you see a common denominator between me/pine forests and cabins?

That's why it had to be the Pineywoods of Texas I moved to when I moved to Texas, and why we had to build a log cabin to be our forever home. They are safe, and strong, and have always protected me in a world that's been full of some epic deceptions and assaults (some very physical).

Even at night, nothing scares me out here. The sounds of the forest are the normal noises of a living society I have chosen to be a part of. Weather permitting, the windows and skylights are open so I can hear it all playing out. It's the background of my best sleep. 

I'm a tree hugger, plain and simple. 

I love to sit on the ground with my toes in the dirt and my back against a big pine tree. When I close my eyes, I can feel the top of the tree swaying 100' above me, I can hear it softly creaking. 

The forest is my mother, my protector, my home.

I am its daughter, its steward, its voice. 

So, that's the long answer.