Tuesday, March 19, 2013

the cabin

In 1989 my parents bought an A-frame cabin in the interior of British Columbia.  It had a wood stove and no running water so we'd fill up large blue containers with push button spouts.  We'd heat the water on the stove to wash dishes and we'd go days without baths, but our grandparents lived half an hour away so that was handy.

The outhouse was also A-framed and beyond it a shed in which we kept our bikes.  There was a bike jump, a large rock embedded beneath the long pine grass.  Our Dad put up a swing and we had campfires at night.

My siblings and I made beaded bracelets and read a lot of Archie comics to pass the time.  Chris and I made up our own comics.  His were funnier than mine.

The winters were cold, some days probably around -20 celsius.  Sometimes I was afraid my butt would get stuck to the toilet seat in the outhouse, kind of like how your tongue gets stuck to a flag pole if you decide to lick it during freezing temperatures.

One cold night my sister, Stephanie, and I made the small trek to the outhouse together.  We somehow managed to drop the flashlight down the hole, but the partially frozen pyramid of poo happened to be quite high so we asked our Dad to reach in and get it out for us.

We always got super excited about driving to the steep, crazy big tobogganing hill.  It was tough getting up to the top, but it was all worth it for the fun slide down.

This afternoon I was at the cabin, which is only used as storage space now, and it brought back these memories.

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