Days of Old

The sun streams in through the window, swimming through the rippled glass, casting shadows of the trees across the worn wooden floor. Out the window, the morning light reflects off the still clear lake, a perfect mirror image of the mountains surrounding it. In front of the window, on the handcrafted wood table sits an ancient radio, its speakers mounted at the top left and right of the window. Next to the radio is a wood case with glass windows holding two decks of playing cards, the jokers staring out, mocking the world, daring them to play with them. A clay jar shaped like a bag holds pens and pencils while a pad of yellow paper rests nearby. Five mismatched chairs sit around the table, two green, the rest, natural hues of wood. Next to the table, eight horseshoes lean, expectantly awaiting their next match. On the other side of the large green oak door sits my favorite reading chair, it sits low to the ground, brown with a slight recline, arm rests and a single cushion padding the bottom. It sits in front of the three story bookshelf and next to the wood cabinet bearing an assortment of comics, from Archie to Beatle Bailey, The Flintstones to The Rawhide Kid. A collection of batteries fills an entire shelf, waiting for night, when they are called upon to defend the frightened tent occupants from the terrible dark.
Above the chair another rippled window looks out on the croquet course. Although croquet is a gentleman’s game played on well manicured grass, at Echo it is known as Echo Ball, a sport played around protruding roots, scattered pinecones and wild squirrels. Next to the chair is a medium sized bed with a blue spread and five homey pillows. Backed into the corner of the room, a kerosene lamp shines light for those caring to pass the night away with a good book. A small jar contains matches, and mismatched mate bears the burnt ones, like remnants from a campfire. Paintings of fish hang above the bed, their beady eyes watching the occupants of the room.
To the right of the bed is a door leading to the upstairs bed room. Next to the closed door, a notice of bear sightings hangs on the wood wall. Warnings against leaving food out and of the bear’s superior strength of smell strive to frighten cabin owners into obedience. Underneath the bear sign sits a small bedside table, weighed down by books checked out from the library. Another medium sized bed with a blue cover lies beneath another rippled window. This with a view of the snowmelt creek that runs behind the cabin, bringing with it the clean clear water from the tip tops of the mountains surrounding it. Above and surrounding the window, treasured trophies from Echo Lakes Day, the annual competition, bear the pride of Maslin Cabin H25. The prizes remember such events as the esteemed horseshoe tournament, the block race, and the grasshopper. The awards are homemade from leaves, pinecones, slices from trees, all representing the place the people of Echo love and care for.
To the right of the bed is a large cabinet bearing bottles of wine and an extra lifejacket. Above the cabinet hangs a large tree branch, prize necklaces from previous Echo Lake Days draped triumphantly from its limbs. A narrow door leads into the shoe closet kitchen, where an ancient stove and refrigerator are stuffed inside. Shelves bear the weight of many an expired can, from green peas to condensed milk to cream of mushroom soup. Supplies for S’mores fill an entire shelf. Next to the fridge is a sliding door leading to an outdoor cooler, usually containing eggs and sodas. Pots and pans dangle from the ceiling.
Exiting the kitchen and to the left, a dresser holds placemats and various house hold items: matches, toothpicks, napkins, pepper and salt; atop the dresser sits a coffee mug tree and a bowl of fruit. Above them hangs a mirror, and above the mirror hangs a picture from nineteen-thirty nine showing the laying down of the very foundation of the cabin. Many years ago a marmot hibernated in the cabin for the winter, gnawing out half the bathroom floor for the tasty wood glue inside. The remnants of the floor are mounted above the picture.
Another door, this one sticking to the floor and wearing it down even more, opens to the washroom. Two shelves contain medical supplies pertaining to the high altitude: extra moisturizing lotions and a variety of bug repellants and sprays. The sink is porcelain with a small ancient mirror above it, framed by green flaking wood. Next to the sink is the water heater, its small flickering flame turned on every morning to heat the creek water for morning showers.
A door leads out of the washroom and onto the weathered porch overlooking the lake. Four Adirondack chairs look down the mountain, keeping an eye out for the children returning from their swim in the chilly lake. The chairs soak up the sun; the warmth radiates off their dark green wood, evaporating the water clinging to the children’s goose bumpy bodies. The setting sun sashays across the rustic porch, pirouettes through the rippled window, and curls up on my lap with a sigh of contentment.

-Heehee I almost forgot my name!
WRITTEN BY DUNCAN