Cabin in the Glade

Leaves wafted down as James picked his way along the trail, trying to avoid muddy spots while taking in the reds, yellows, and oranges of the autumnal forest. Now and then, he’d stop and listen to a bird call or the breeze slipping through the treetops.

But other than the occasional chirp or woodpecker’s knock, James had encountered no one and few living things since he set out on this hike at dawn. Yes, so far, this trail had been all that James hoped it would be: isolated and barely used. He wanted the solitude of a two-day, overnight trek into the forest, and now that he was embarking upon it, James felt peaceful and filled as he climbed a slight ridge.

As he approached the hilltop, James noticed the trees began to thin along the trail and smelled something — woodsmoke. Reaching the top, James saw a glade. The woods gave way to tall, untamed grass with a few late-season wildflowers mixed in, and in the middle of the clearing sat a small, pristine wood cabin, a faint smoke trail slipping out of its stone chimney.

A house, here, in this forest? James thought. I must be lost.

James slipped the pack off his back and retrieved his trail map. He traced his fingers from where he parked his car, along the trail James believed he’d just hiked. There was only one trail, the trail he was on. And yet nowhere on the map was there a symbol indicating a structure, much less a cabin that was, if the chimney smoke was any indication, inhabited. Confused and worried he was trespassing, James decided to ask whoever was inside the cabin for directions or permission to cross their land.

Stepping onto the cabin’s narrow front porch, James didn’t see signs that anyone used the place. Nothing sat on the porch’s plank wood floor or hung from its pine log beams, and no welcome mat sat below the brown, wooden door. James glanced toward the single window on this cabin’s side. An orange glow emanated from where James presumed was the cabin’s fireplace.

James tapped his knuckles against the door for two quick, hesitant knocks then listened. Nothing. James knocked again, harder this time, and thought he heard wood creak inside.

Then the metal doorknob turned, and the wooden door pulled open to reveal a short man who appeared as old as dirt with a beard that reached down to his knees.

“Oh,” the man said, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “Well, hello there.”

“Uh, hi,” James said. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Well, it’s no bother at all,” the old man said. “I was just resting.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Not from anything important.”

“I, uh, I’m hiking —”

“Beautiful day for it!”

“Yes, um, yes it is. But I’m a little confused.”

“Confused? ‘Bout what?”

“Well,” James said, holding up his map, “I didn’t expect this cabin to be here.”

“But it is.”

James grinned. “Right, I see that. It’s just; I’m wondering if I’m lost.”

“Oh, no,” the old man said. “You’re not lost.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m looking right at you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re here. I’m looking at you. So? You’re here.”

“Right, but I’m not sure where here is.” James gestured the map toward the old man. “Would you mind taking a look at this map and letting me know where I am?”

“Of course!” the old man said. “Why don’t you come in here where it’s warm, and I’ll take a look.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother. If you could just glance at the map real quick, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Well, I don’t have any hair,” the old man said, chuckling while rubbing his bald head. “Except what’s coming out of my chin.”

James laughed. “Yeah, still. I’ll be on my way if you can just take a look.”

“Just finished a pot of soup. The fire’s warm. I don’t get a lot of visitors, as you might imagine. Why don’t you come in, sit a spell, get warm, and have a hot meal?”

James’ stomach moved at the mention of food, and his feet did ache from the day’s hike. And James knew the man was too old to hurt him.

“OK, just for a minute,” James said.

“Excellent!” the old man said, stepping aside to let James cross the cabin’s threshold.

The fire’s warmth filled the one-room cabin. Two wooden chairs and two small beds sat in a semicircle around the fireplace. James’s eyes followed his nose to his left, where a black pot sat on a wood-fired stove next to a small, wooden table.

“Drop your pack and have a seat!” the old man said. “I’ll fix you up a bowl.”

James slid the pack off his back and leaned against the wall next to the door. “Is this good?” he said.

“Yes, yes,” the old man said without turning around. “Anywhere is fine.”

James picked one of the chairs and sat down.

“Here you go,” the old man said, handing James a steaming bowl of soup. “Beef stew.”

“Thank you,” James said.

“No trouble at all.”

James took a few bites, then said, “This is delicious. Sure beats what I was planning to eat tonight.”

“What was on the menu?”

“Well, I’ve got trail mix and some instant noodles.”

“Instant noodles?” the old man asked.

“Yeah, you know, the kind you mix with hot water.”

“Don’t believe I do.”

“Oh, well, they’re, they’re not that great, but they’re light and easy, perfect for camping.”

“Wonderful.”

“Do you do any camping?” James asked.

“Me? Oh no, no.”

“Ever go hiking?”

“No, can’t say that I do.”

“Oh. So, uh, what do you do, you know, out here. Is it just you?”

“Just me. Yes, yes, just me,” the old man said. “Lotta bird watching.”

“How long you been out here?”

“Long time. A long time.”

Although he’d planned on this trip being free of anyone else, James found himself enjoying the old man’s company. There was something about living alone in the woods that had always appealed to James. Now, he’d stumbled upon someone doing it.

James and the old man chatted for what felt like hours until James’s belly was full of soup and the fire in the fireplace was down to embers. James turned and looked out the cabin’s only window. Dusk was quickly turning into night.

“Oh no,” James said. “Mister, I gotta get going.”

“What’s the rush?”

“I’m supposed to camp tonight. I gotta find a campsite, set up my tent.”

“Well, that seems kinda silly when you got a bed right there,” the old man said, pointing to the wooden bed that sat next to James.

“That does look comfortable,” James said. “But I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one who decides if you’ve overstayed your welcome?”

“Well, I guess, but —”

“And I say you haven’t.”

“But —”

“Stay the night,” the old man said. “What’s the harm? You get a warm, goodnight’s sleep, and I’ll feed you some of my blueberry muffins in the morning — my specialty.”

James heard crickets calling from outside. The thought of stumbling through the dark woods, trying to find a campsite, and pitching his tent in the blackness didn’t appeal to him.

“OK,” James said. “If it’s not too much.”

“No, no. Not too much. The bed’s already made. So you make yourself comfortable, get some rest, I’ll feed you in the morning, and you can be on your merry way.”

James nodded, stood, and slid off his muddy hiking pants. He slipped under the bed’s bright patchwork quilt and laid his head onto a soft, plump pillow. James closed his eyes and fell into a deep, deep slumber.

———

James awoke to the smell of fresh baked goods. He sat up in bed and looked around. He was alone, but a tray of muffins sat steaming on the table.

James rose and peeked out the window. A few birds fluttered in the trees across the glade, and a bee buzzed near the window, but no sign of the old man. James noticed his pack was gone.

Thinking the old man sat it outside on the porch, James tried the door. The knob wouldn’t turn. James twisted and pulled. The door wouldn’t budge, even though it didn’t appear to have a lock on it. Thinking it was stuck, James leaned back and tugged on the door with all his might. The door didn’t move a bit.

James looked around the cabin. Seeing a note lying on the table by the muffins, James rushed over to it.

“Here are the muffins I promised,” the note read. “You did me a big favor stopping by. Now I can go on. The thing is, though, you can’t, not until someone else comes along to take your place. I’m truly sorry about that, but it’s the way things are, the way things happened to me.

When I came to this cabin, I was a young man, younger than you, even, and without a whisker on my face. Curious, I gave the door a knock. A kindly old woman answered and offered me some soup and a spell by the warm fire. I couldn’t resist, and the next morning she was gone, and I was not. Until now. Until you.

I appreciate you taking my place. Sit tight, watch the birds, enjoy the fire, and one day, I promise, someone will come along. They’ll knock on the door and, when they do, be sure to offer them some soup.”