Ode To a Cabin

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The driveway was familiar under our snow tires. As we bounced around side by side in silence, I couldn’t help but notice this drive was different from so many we had made before.

Dom and I have made this commute for almost a decade now and a lot has changed since our first trip. Fresh faced and months from graduating college we scraped together just enough money to treat ourselves to a girls weekend away in the snow. A night of four dollar wine and dreams of a winter wonderland had us huddled around the computer desperately searching for the cabin of our dreams. We needed something that would take us, at least for a moment, out of our graduation dread and into a blissful world where we could sit by a fire in our coziest pajamas. After some careful deliberation and scary investigation into our college bank accounts we decided we deserved a weekend away.

We finished finals a week later, packed up the car and headed out of the city. It was mesmorizing to watch the trees get bigger and the buildings get smaller as we found our way into the mountains. Dainty, gentle snowflakes flew past our windows as we belted the wrong words to christmas carrols. These seemingly delicate snowflakes that sprinkled around us soon turned into a deafening wall of white around our car. We turned down the christmas music as if this would make the driving easier. Our singing stopped and both of us sat still and held our breaths as the incline of the road continued to grow.

We both grew up in the heat of the San Fernando Valley where the biggest hazard of driving is maybe the sun beating down on your steering wheel threatening to burn your fingers. But snow, we had no idea what we were doing. Eventually, the road began to flatten again and for a moment, the snow had stopped falling. We rounded a corner to a view we had never seen before. Seemingly endless pine trees dusted with snow as far as we could see. The sun in the distance broke through the thick grey sky to add a dash of color to the snowglobe we found ourselves in. Our gps broke the silence to let us know that we had just about reached our destination. There it was, our snowy escape perched unbelievably high at the top of what seemed to be the steepest driveway either of us had ever seen.

The hiss of the car’s engine filled the spaces between our ill planned attempts to climb the driveway. Do we reverse and gun it? Do we try slow and steady? We even tried to google ‘best ways to climb a steep driveway in the snow’. Much to our dismay this search was completely unhelpful. After careful consideration we decided the best thing to do would be to floor it up the driveway to our blissful home.

I held the steering wheel tighter than ever, hands perched perfectly at 10 and 2. I looked over to Dom in the passenger seat for a reassuring nodd only to find her eyes closed, nose scrunched and hands tucked deep into her jacket. I took a deep breath and pressed down on the pedal. We moved slowly at first, then with some speed. I felt the confidence return to my hands when all of the sudden an unfamiliar feeling struck me. The steering wheel seemed to lock up, the front wheels had a mind of their own and the soft hiss of my Jeep compass became a roar I had only ever heard watching Ice Road Trukers. Dom’s eyes shot open and glued to me. I felt my fingers, then wrists and eventutally forearms lock up and forwhat seemed like a lifetime that car skidded a few feet in each direction until finally grinding to a forceful stop at the landing of the driveway. I removed my hand from the steering wheel, knuckles white and fingers shaking to put us in park. Breathing heavier than we had in a while and thankful to be stopped Dom and I looked at each other and bursted out laughing. It was the kinda laugh you feel in your cheeks for half an hour after.

We grabbed our bags and made our way inside. The cabin was massive. I remember arching my neck all the way back to take a peak at the top of the A-frame. A handmade wreath sat perfectly on the tan front door. We opened the door, kicked the snow off our boots and it felt like home.

Dom and I sat quietly, the crackling of the fire, our homemade hot chocolate and fluffy pajamas were everything we dreamed they’d be. The adrenaline of the drive had worn off and after a few particularly challenging weeks we needed the peace that cabin so thoughtfully provided. The impending graduation and our incredibly high fail rate of job applications had us in a bit of a funk. We had been minutes away from each other our whole lives but this next chapter was sure to change that. It had created an energy between us that felt unfamiliar but the warmth of the fire seemed to melt that away.

The next day we explored the woods around the cabin, our rented sled in tow, we were determined to make the most of it. For hours we clambered up this small hill behind our house and barreled down as fast as we could. When the cold finally hit our toes we made our way back inside. I was perched over another pot of hot chocolate, obsessed with topping yesterday’s recipe when Dom let out a shriek form the other room I had only heard a handful of times. I dropped my chocolate covered whisk and ran into the living room to find her jumping, sort of dancing with tears in her eyes. When she finally collected herself she managed to squeeze out the words, “I got a job!” I screamed and joined her manic, tearful dance party. Tears of joy quickly turned when she revealed her job would take her across the country to New York City.

We felt it, this mix of emotion so powerful our ears were ringing. We were faced, so clearly with a world we didn’t know in a time where every decision felt colossal. But we felt safe, safe next to a fire, next to each other with our now slightly burnt hot chocolate. It was gonna be okay. We vowed to come back to the cabin next year to do it all again. But with one small change, a four wheel drive vehicle.

We kept our promise and returned the next year, snapping our longest streak of not seeing each other. Dom coming in from New York and me from Seattle the cabin once again welcoming us with open arms. Thinking back now we were still just kids. Kids with slightly more cash in our pockets and just a smidge more confidence. We updated each other on friends, jobs, families and most importantly boys. The next day, flush with itsy bitsy christmas bonuses we spent the day skiing and snowboarding. An activity the year before we could only dream about. We spent hours in front of the fire, our conversation only broken momentarily by big crackles from the wood burning fire.

After a year off from our precious winter escape we wouldn’t be missing any more time away and arrived at the cabin, this time with steady partners by our sides. We had always thought about bringing boy friends with us but committed workaholics and perpetually single as we seemed to be it didn’t feel likely. One morning we found ourselves alone in the kitchen, boys still sound asleep after days of hitting the slopes. We made ourselves at home, grabbed our usual mugs and whispered memories form our frist trip. We knew we had changed, our relationship had changed but this fear we had was gone. It seemed to be replaced by the confidence and charisma of two grown women. We looked at each other intensely, into the faces we had seen for 15 years and started to see new people. We left that cabin floating. Feeling absolutely on top of the world.

The next year we returned again, this time from the same city with the same men. We pulled up the driveway which miraculously seemed to get less steep each year to see the cabin had been painted. It’s gentle cream walls had been replaced by a dark green that blended into the trees around it. We joked, frustrated, that we had not been consulted on the new color of our own home. The trip seemed as normal as any year before. Skiing, snowboards, drinks by the fire and loads of laughs filled our getaway. Once again on the eve of our last day we promised each other we’d come back. That year wrapped up like any other. Slightly boring and uneventful but lovely.

In the months that followed life would throw us a few dozen curveballs. In January Dom lost her mom. In february I lost my job and separated from my partner of three years. Dom’s breakup came shortly after at the end of April. Lost and lonely we moved into together again. Soon after I lost my dad. In the span of 6 months these lives we knew were flipped upside down and we found ourselves once again lost and at the mercy of life altering change. The longest spring of our live’s rolled into a dry, hot summer wich fell quietly into fall. We celebrated birthdays and leaned on each other as we navigated the holidays without parents or partners.

One day, working from home in utter silence my calendar reminded me it was time to book our beloved cabin. The joy it had brought us over the years seemed desperately needed but the energy it would take to get it together was completely lacking. After some apathetic debate we decided to once again make the trip to our precious A-frame cabin.

The drive was quieter, longer. We knew all the turns of Evergreen Road, all the vistas inevitably packed with tourists all the runs we’d attempt on our skis. We came around that infamous corner that had stunned us all those years ago to find the view as magical as ever. I looked past Dom at the trees and saw the corner of her mouth tick up ever so slightly. A few dozen yards more and we were at the foot of our driveway. The steepness had grown once again and the snow covered it like a soft blanket. Our four wheel drive car, decked with chains made it up the driveway flawlessly. It was a comfort we needed after our turbulent year.

We walked up to the door as we had for years, shook the snow from our boots and made our way inside. A small, handwritten note and a bottle of wine welcomed us in. The note read, ‘so happy to have you again, please make yourselves at home’. We were overcome. The years of hot chocolate, dancing, drinking, games all of it felt around the room.

We unpacked and made our way back to the living room once more where we had spent countless hours making and recalling memories. We sat, in our comfy pajamas and college sweatshirts and felt it again. An uncertainty we knew all too well. In a place we were lucky enough to call home. Laughter once again filled the pitched ceilings, the heat from the fire warmed every inch of our space and for the first time in a long time we felt that peace.