It might never have been . . .

O little cabin in the woods, thou art lost.

What is it about this particular cabin that recalls snatches of old songs?

O my darling,

O my darling,

O my darling Clementine,

Thou art lost and gone forever,

Dreadful sorry, Clementine.

The first time I posted about this cabin, it reminded me of Rosemary Clooney’s classic, This Ole House.  I wrote five chapters (i.e., posts) about this structure, just down the road from us (5 November 2012 – THE LOST CABIN).  Until last Sunday, it had withstood the tests of time for forty-two years.

Most of that time, it had stood empty.  You can begin to imagine what species of life had staked claims to the interior.  A few come to my mind – bats, mice, sundry rodents, spiders, ants, bacteria, mold, unspecified slime . . .

Two years ago, the owner had arranged for a contractor to cut most (just short of all) the trees on the lot.  A year ago the cabin was once again obscured by the new growth – the poplar, birch, alder, mountain maple  . . .

This fall the property is gorgeous, a Jackson Pollock canvas of green and gold and red.

Then on Sunday evening, we heard the clatter and roar of machinery just down the road.  I investigated.  A backhoe, an enormous backhoe, was poised to gobble up the little cabin.

Bringing the roof down . . .

I snapped pictures.  The next-door neighbour, Mitch, filmed it.

“An historic moment,” I said.

“Yep,” he said.

Collapsing the wall . . .

There are some historic moments you can have mixed feelings about.

When you have rubbed shoulders with anybody, with ANYTHING, for decades, and then that person or that thing passes on, you have to feel a degree of grief.

Perhaps even a degree of relief.

The cabin is dead.  Long live the cabin.

There will be a new cabin.  Someday.  A new beginning. New people.  New joys and new laughter and new sorrows.

In the meantime, O little cabin.

Dreadful sorry.

Feeling gutted . . .


About EJ Lavoie

Writer and independent publisher with website www.WhiskyJackPublishing.ca
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