A Shell

The cabin is about a week away from demolition. It is now a shell of its former self. In truth, its former self was fortunate—set on the banks of a wild river in a valley—and flanked by hills covered with sage and pine with a stunning view of the Rocky Mountains.

I say fortunate because not much else about this odd architectural creation was workable. Remodeled by a previous owner several times, the house was built by one woman who, we are told, built it for one occupant—herself.

In our case, hosting more than one couple for dinner or even conversation and drinks, was painful. My husband observed that wedging people into the nook was tantamount to the staging of Normandy.

To enter our storage room, we had to bend over and crawl into the space eerily at the top of a flight of stairs with no railing and poor light. Think the “Drink Me” potion in Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, where in order to fit into the room, she must drink a potion called Pishsalver.

Looking down from the “French doors” in the bedroom, doors which couldn’t be opened because a screen would not fit, the screened porch (seen below) did provide warm (and some frigid) memories of wonderful gatherings for dinner and laughs.

About the time I would invite two couples for dinner in the screened porch, the only room that would fit more than 2-4 thin people, the weather would change. Last year,

five of our neighbors over for an Indian dinner. Good thing I didn’t plan BBQ. We needed all of the Indian spice we could get as the temps sank to a chilly 45-50 degrees in mid-September. My guests had come with parkas; we supplied the blankets. People who probably never drank Scotch did imbibe.

The house is now a shell. Neighbors removed windows, screens, doors, a clawfoot bathtub, a washer/dryer, and most of the roof. Whatever was decent has been taken away.

We all have a shell that protects us from physical, emotional, and psychological bad weather, harsh people, injury, and insult.

In the case of this house, the time has come for a new carapace—one sturdier and definitely more comfortable.

For now, my husband and I are stuffed into a small guest house with a Portuguese Water Dog.

I am selling tickets to the local kids for the demolition and will duly photograph the razing for my readers and all who have visited.