Ode to the Cabin and A Random Musical Recommend

I have made it. Finally, after too many months I am in McCall. The tall Ponderosa Pines greeted me on 55 when I stopped by the river on the drive up. The lake now melted, I am reminded that my last adventures here involved skis and mittens. In college I would come here as a respite. We would travel from Walla Walla for Thanksgiving and sleep all day, then come out of our dark cavern and eat, maybe go on a walk and then sleep again. When I was writing my senior thesis I spent the time in between Christmas and New Year's here alone. Just me and Jah anyways. I would ski with Jah round the little lake, make food and write and read, endless notes developing a web of a fantastical outline around a theory of political resistance built on the foundations of a global movement of sustainable agriculture, lots of Terri Gross--it was her tribute to jazz greats that week and I loved every minute. When in Jersey coming to the cabin Summer or Winter was such a savior. Yes, a world like this does still exist. I knew it was time to leave Rutgers when I told my advisor and a fellow student I just needed to go to a little cabin in the woods with no one around for a bit to get some perspective, and they said "no where like that exists anymore." Well, yes it does, but don't tell them. I came here alone to finalize my studies for my re-take of my qualifying exams. Dreams of feminists past and present filling the hollow space in the middle of the cabin surrounding me as I slept in the loft. And then a period of intense family bonding between sisters and their children, a mother anchoring and angering us, our children splashing in the water and sand, sledding down icy slopes just outside the front door. I am here now. The spring and fall are my favorite seasons here. Contrary to the bustle of winter and summer there is no direct pull out the door. I can sit in and look out the window and then spend the afternoon exploring the wood, ending up at the sand, digging deep down, piling up and then lazily move to the cabin again. In summer, the lake nearly shouts for all kinds of play and the mountains beg for hiking on the trails, plus the bike riding. In winter we are torn between sledding, alpine skiing, backcountry telemarking, and my ultimate favorite of skate skiing. Oh, what tribulations of choice! I am so lucky to have this place, this place that absorbs the rest of the world in the form of a buffer that allows for so much fun and joy and connectedness. I am thankful to the vision of my parents over thirty years ago to build this space that would allow for the combination of their two (and with me three) families in to one, even though that attempt has had varied success. My grandfather layered these logs based on my parents design--and with typical Irish stubborness then refused to spend another night here again. But I still feel him in these layered walls. They implicitly remind me of him. This is random, but before I left for the cabin on Friday night I flipped to PBS at about 10:00. (The first link is now functioning and the second link is intense and not as delightful, but still important.) "Austin City Limits" was on, and I was hopeful the music for the night would appeal to me, since it usually does. It was Damien Marley. Oh my. I don't know how I hadn't heard him before. I am a long time and kind of cheezy Bob Marley fan. You know, started at least 5 college papers with a quote from one of his songs, named my dog Jah. I never have been a serious student of Rastafarianism or anything but watching Damien and hearing him speak peaked my interest again. This music is amazing. I recommend listening to both the single and the interview from the first link. I liked his individual songs better than the collaborative one that is available here, but it is still real good.