Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how very lucky I am that I have to pack up and haul my trash to a dump outlet down on highway 321. In my rural community we have no curb service or curbs and you’ll never hear the cartoon jingles of an ice cream truck. The postal service does deliver mail, but requires an official government four-wheel drive jeep. I have to purchase my newspapers at the store and trick or treaters never come calling on Halloween night. I have no garage, Walmart is 25 miles away down a country road and a bear cub left its calling card on my deck table last week… I live in a little log cabin in a place called Utopia.
Many visitors flock down here for a week or so, rent a cabin down the holler a ways, hop in the hot tub, grill some shish-ka-bobs and then head back to beautifully landscaped subdivisions with tailored yards, trees and kids. They step outside to get their morning newspapers and bathe themselves in the luxury of weekly garbage pick-up. They have curbs and sidewalks. I am often asked by such folks what it might be like to live in a humble log cabin year-round instead of just a week. There is, after all, a common wanderlust American dream to drop out of suburbia and leave the hectic pace of the city. Henry David Thoreau helped foster that dream back in 1845 when he built a little cabin on Walden Pond and wrote about it. I still try to follow many of his observations including, “Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.” Anyway, I advise our visitors that life in a rural log cabin is truly wonderful, but my Utopia does come with a few strings attached.
As much as I enjoy packing and hauling my garbage I can still smell the time my wife forgot to empty the trash on her way to the airport. She was gone for a week and the garbage went through a process that can be best described as “slow roasted.” Two spray bottles of “new car aroma” only added a subtle hint of leathery sweetness to the awful stench. There is also the issue of cabinets and closets. It isn’t really an issue; it’s just that there aren’t enough of either. I once owned a two and a half car garage filled to the brim with stuff that now fits in my tiny water heater closet. Kitchen items are often a heated discussion, “Honey, We don’t need special chili bowls.” You should reconsider moving to a small log cabin if you still cherish your fondue set, your collector Star Wars beverage glasses or save Christmas cards. Any non-functional objects must be placed on the short list for disposal (husbands are legally excluded). There is an amazing upside to those inconvenient “strings.”
You get to wake up and brew a cup of coffee as the sun peeks over the mountains and the fog drapes the colorful trees in the valley below. It will take your breathe away. The only traffic noise comes from bird traffic. Temperatures are always cooler because it drops about three degrees for every thousand feet of elevation. Mosquitos don’t cater to thinner air above 2500 feet. As the sun paints a masterpiece across the sky you might get a fire going to remove the slight chill and then make some hot chocolate. Stars fill the night sky and cicadas offer a lullaby in perfect harmony. Utopia to me is three simple words, “Peaceful, Easy Feeling.” I did splurge for a knick knack that hangs in my cabin. It isn’t a fancy quote from Henry David Thoreau, but I like it and believe it: “If you are lucky enough to live in the mountains…you are lucky enough.” That is just how it looks from my log cabin.
John LaFevre is a local speaker and co-author of the interactive national park hiking book series, Scavenger Hike Adventures, Falcon Guides, Globe Pequot Press. Contact John at scavengerhike@aol.com. Artist G. Webb lives in Pittman Center, Tennessee. Gwebbgallery.com.
