Day 254
I had a pet turtle when I was growing up. His name was Twurtle. Twurtle was a 4" painted turtle I had found at Stony Creek. I kept him in an aquarium with a rock, small branch and some lettuce. In the corner was a small bowl of water. I didn't keep him long, he looked so sad, and I quickly lost interest in caring for Twurtle, so I released him at a small pond near our house. This was my only experience with a turtle until some years later.
At the Mt. Holly State Park and Campground, there's an old log cabin near the entrance to the state park. The cabin was donated, along with ten acres of land, to the park on provision that the land not be developed except in the maintenance of the cabin. The cabin had four bunk beds and a loft with room for four more and could be rented for $35 a night during the summer and only $30 during the off season. Being frugal I opted for the off season expecting the autumn colors to make up for the cool days and cold nights. I also hoped to rekindle a relationship that recently had gone from hot to "just friends".
When we picked up the keys to the cabin at the DNR office, the officer on duty warned us to keep the entrance gate locked as sometimes people would take the cabin access drive, thinking it was a way to sneak into the park without paying.
We closed the gate and locked it after us, then drove about fifty yards to the cabin advertised as nestled among green trees and wild flowers. What we got was bare trees and skunk weed. As for the fall colors, we had had an early cold snap and the leaves had already past the reds, golds and yellows stage and were skittering across the ground. The few sparse leaves still in the trees were dried up and a uniform brown.
When we opened the door we were greeted with the pungent odor of fresh paint. Stepping inside with our bags, we examined the walls but they were varnished half log. Halfway across the room we realized it was the floor that had been painted. We went back outside, leaving the door and several windows open to speed the drying.
There was a nice breeze blowing but due to temperatures in the low sixties, it took several hours for the floor to dry. We sat in the car to stay warm, looking at the bare trees and the gray overcast skies.
Strike one.
Later the park ranger would tell us they had forgotten we were coming that weekend (no one ever rents the cabin at that time of year), so the maintenance guys decided it would be a good time to paint the floor.
Part of the charm of this cabin was a wood burning fireplace to "keep you toasty warm". My plan was a couple of glasses of wine, huddled together with a blanket in front of the fireplace. Hoping this would lead to soft looks and warm kisses.
I loaded up my arms with split logs, supplied by the park, and went inside to start a fire in the fireplace. Nothing warms the heart like the scent of pine boughs burning, it stirs subconscious thoughts of holidays and Christmas cheer.
I would get a blazing fire going and warm the cabin for my lady fair. As I turned toward the fireplace I dropped the wood, the largest piece landing on my foot. The hearth stones fireplace were black with soot and in the opening was a rusted, cast iron wood burning heater. Permanently mounted. Also blackened with soot. No romantic fire.
Strike two.
Again the park ranger had explained to us; a previous group of young renters had placed a four foot log partly in the fireplace and mostly out on the floor, assuming they would burn the first half then just push the remainder into the fireplace; saving them from having to haul wood and giving them more time to drink beer. After they almost set the cabin on fire, it was decided to install the cast iron heater in the fireplace.
Any illusions I had of a romantic weekend were fading fast...
It's getting late, I'll finish this tomorrow or the next day.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
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