Heading to the Cabin and The Lake

In a few days, I will be going back to the last home I have.

A place I have gone since I was old enough to walk. Even before. In the arms of my mother and father.

A beautiful place. With water and gorgeous mountains, millions of years old. A lake that has felt my hands and feet paddle in it since I was a small boy.

A place my mother dearly loved. It was her parent's place, some 55 years ago.

My mom reconnected with life and with nature there. It was her salvation. Her solitude.

And now it is mine.

But she still lives there.

My mom is gone now well over a year. And that wound in my heart has not healed.

I will open the door this Friday. Step inside. And the smells of the old pine paneling. The photos on the refrigerator. The 20 year old calendar still hanging on the door to the bathroom...

Will bring me back.

It's home. After all the hell my life has been. It's home. It's the place I go to when the chips are down. When the world is stacked against me.

And it gives me strength.

The beauty of the woods, the streams, the lake itself. The quint old town that is close by. Where I know the shop owners. Where I went when I was just a boy. I now go as a man. A man of 52 years.

There is a lifetime of memories there.

Of times I had.

Of dreams I had.

The thoughts and memories of a life gone by.

My mother in the kitchen at the cabin. Preparing dinner as the winds waft in through the creaky old windows, the sun setting over the lake.

I can still smell the goodness. I can still see her smile.

I can still taste that incredible food, that always tastes better.

At the lake.

In the Cabin.

My home.