We are at the cabin this week. You call it Uncle's Cabin; really, it's your Dad's Great Uncle Paul's cabin. You love it here, and rightly so. It's an important place for us.
This was where your Dad took me on our first date. That is a long story for another time, and really, it wasn't a smart move on my part all those years ago. I barely knew him then, and I let him drive me hours into the dark for a 'surprise' - to an empty cabin to build a fire. I had a sense about him, and I was right. Luckily. Anyway.
He came here every year with his family for two weeks on vacation. It was one of the few places your Dad (almost) connected with his own Dad. There's no TV, no internet, barely a cell phone signal. It's quiet and it sits right on the riverfront. It's old, has never been updated, and is really kind of disgusting if you've never been there before. Your Great Uncle Bill owns it now, and he has all kinds of things written on the wall with Sharpie. Instructions, warnings, and some pure crazy talk. It's these things that give the place character, that make it truly quirky and unforgettable.
When we didn't have much money, we used to try to come out here as often as we could. It was a free getaway. And now, we come once a year, because it's free and because it's a great place for kids and because it's full of the memories of all the years that have gone before. I almost forget how nasty the place is when it's bathed in sunset and memories. That's a lot of the time. But there are days when it's been cool and dreary and raining for too long, and I remember. You might remember me on those days, too. Sorry. I always was more of a beach girl myself, but oh the things we do for love. I come to the cabin. I actually, almost all the time, love it myself.
Today was a great day, but it didn't start out that way. You had a nightmare last night, something about a meowing rat. Sounded pretty scary to me, too. You crawled into my bed before 7 AM and thus the day began. The last few days have been cool, rainy, indoor days. I was grumpy. Your Dad was sick last week and was in the hospital for almost a week and it was hard on all of us, and we're all in need of some extra rest this week. Anyway, somehow your Daddy in his great love for all of us saved the day and pulled us out of the dumps with a bike ride and a visit to the Double Diamond Deer Ranch. You built your first council fire and made apple mountain pies with him. Your face was so happy and so dirty and so tired, but he asked you if you wanted to go twilight fishing and your eyes lit up. Off you both went. I imagine you learning to cast a line as the sun sets on a 70 degree day in early June, your hand in your Dad's hand.
Maybe someday, when you're reading this, you'll still know this place well. Or maybe life will do what life does and surprise us with something even better in the future that takes us somewhere else every year. I hope you remember these moments, these days with your Dada and your Mommy and your little brother. These are good days, Allegra. Not perfect days - few days of your life will be perfect - but as close as it gets in this life.
Here are some memories for you to keep, Allegra. Memories of really fantastic days, when you were not quite five years old, and you spent the twilight fishing with your Dad. Good, good memories.
