Memories of special cabin stirred by holiday
We all have a special place that we remember from our childhood that as we become adults, we wish we could go back to. Mine is the cabin. When I was young my grandparents owned a cabin on Elliottsville Road in Farmington where family and friends gathered for holidays, reunions, and Sunday afternoons. It was nothing fancy.
It had one open room upstairs, four double beds and lots of floor space where the kids would pile up with sleeping bags. Downstairs was one bedroom, a living room and fireplace (our only source of heat), an organ and a television that picked up four channels if you were lucky. Older cousins slept in sleeping bags on a hard wood floor in the family room. There was a smaller dining room, and a kitchen with a coal stove. The house was always comfy and cozy and everything my grandmother cooked was the best food in the world.
The bathroom had a sink and toilet. Our moms would get water from the spring and heat it on the stove and we would “wash off” — no shower where you spent hours just standing there while hot water ran over you. At most times there were at least 30 of us needing to wash off, so bathroom time was limited. For a long time there was no phone, and when a rotary line was put in, no one was allowed to use it. Emergency only, we were told.
Outside there was a big wrap around porch with swings, and two ponds that were stocked for fishing every year.
Thanksgiving at the cabin was the best. I remember one year it snowed so bad that we slid in a ditch and had to walk about 7 miles in the dark, cold and snow and ice to get someone to go pull the car out. My mom insisted we carry the pumpkin pies on our walk because she didn’t want them to freeze.
We all still laugh remembering my dad saying to my mom “I hope you choke on these pies” because she made him carry them. But we all made it there and so did the pies. One year my grandmother put the turkey out on the porch overnight to thaw and it froze solid. Thanksgiving Day the house was filled with an aroma that I will never forget. There were no lighting candles that smelled like gingerbread, we had the real deal. More than one turkey had to be stuffed. The entire meal was made at the same time in the big coal stove. We all gathered at very long tables extending from one end of the cabin to the other.
We held hands while my grandfather said grace. His prayers were long and went on for what seemed like forever. After a while grandma would get mad, saying the food was getting cold. You didn’t dare snicker or look up because you knew better, but we all wanted to laugh. After dinner, the men gathered in the living room and had a snoring contest. The ladies and kids gathered anywhere we could and played a variety of board games.
The next day and throughout the weekend, we ate all of the leftovers. The men spent time in the woods and the ladies and kids made crafts for Christmas. I still have my Santa and Mrs. Claus that we made out of glass coffee jars, cotton balls, felt, and pipe cleaners. It’s all ragged and probably should be thrown out but to me it was the best memory I will ever have.
If we were lucky and it snowed, we went sled riding, spending hours outside sledding and building snowmen. No computers, cell phones, or other mechanical devices, just fresh air, wooden sleds and snow. And of course, we didn’t have designer coats where everything matched. We had a chest where everything was thrown in and you grabbed something and took off. Everyone was off work the day after Thanksgiving and the malls weren’t open on Sundays because that was God’s day. When the weekend was over, and the cabin all cleaned up, we all packed our station wagons and drove off the mountain together, eager to return.
Over the years, the grandkids grew up, got jobs and stopped going to the cabin. Corporate America took over, and most people now work the holidays. My grandparents grew older and health problems took over. Eventually the cabin was sold, and relatives started having their own dinners, though none of us ever forgot those great Thanksgivings. My grandparents passed away taking our hearts with them.
Me, my mom and sisters took up the art of Black Friday shopping, but there was never a Thanksgiving dinner where we didn’t mention something about the cabin. Mom got ill, and over the years her sickness took the best out of her. One fall day my older sister and I took her for a ride to the mountain and we ended up down the long gravel driveway to the cabin. It is now someone’s home, but it looked the same as we remembered. We wanted to knock on the door and ask to see inside but mom wouldn’t let us. We sat in the driveway for a long time, taking everything in. Mom has since passed away and I’m sure there is a cabin in Heaven where she and the Rosner relatives spent Thanksgiving together.
In September of this year I was attending a wedding. A man approached me and introduced himself as a distant cousin that I had never met. At least I thought I never did. As we started talking about who our grandparents were and how we were related, he asked me about the cabin. That touched my heart. I hope that anyone reading this that is related to me and spent time at the cabin, relived those memories in your heart last week. We might not see each other now as much as we used to but we always have the cabin. I hope everyone had a blessed Thanksgiving and I wish you a very Merry Christmas.
Charlotte Breakiron DeCarlo is a resident of New Salem.