A Cabin in Maine

by Lee S. Wilbur

“What do you mean “Doc?”, his friend Phil said, “You’ve bought land for a camp here on the island? On Long Pond? What did you do that for? No one has a camp close to home. Camps are to get away for weekends, maybe a week. Go hunting in the fall. Fishing in the summer. Never heard of such a thing.” Phil later built one on the St. John River...day’s journey.

Year was 1947. Dad had been home from the Philipines for few days shy of a year. Bought a house where he’d set up his medical practice (ever wonder why doctors and lawyers are “practicing” while the rest of us are working at what we supposedly know), then purchased the lot on our “magic lake” for $450. Must have been the GI bill with it’s money borrowing inclusion that allowed he and mother to move as quickly as he did.

Land was soon cleared and with agreements from new-to-be neighbors a bulldozed road was cut. “Bar Harbor Fire of 47" happened that year which did it’s leveling best to burn half of MDI. Million Dollar Island. Interesting that in spite of burning a good deal of Town of Bar Harbor and surrounding woodland which included a huge chunk of Acadia National Park there was a great deal of woodland left which had been scorched but was still salvageable. Man by the name of Arnold Allen at the head of Somes Sound, either had a mill or set one up for that purpose and sawed lumber from the burn for years. Today, if there’s a fire in a National Park or Refuge, the ravaged woodlands have to be left in their so-called “Natural” state with the wood left to rot.

Next year, Dad wasted little time. Before the road was safe to drive on, come Sundays he’d put my newly minted sister, Suzanne, into his pack basket, Mother would fix a lunch and we’d hike down over the hill where Dad would trim and I, as best I could at age 5, would drag the trimmings to a selected pile. Mother, with a poorly re-set arm, result of falling from a tree when she was young would help as well when her new baby girl was taking a nap.

Dad knew what he was doing, what he could do, and he, come hell or high water, was going to do it. We couldn’t have a camp/cottage off-island. He had to be near his patients. Emergency on a weekend, it was his duty, his obligation, to be there for them.

Next year, road in place, Dad hired a local carpenter/contractor to begin construction. Arnold had begun sawing pine in a major way and another mill at the end of Echo Lake, which had escaped the fire, was sawing cedar. Point of interest, the cedar was of course stripped of bark, then cut three sided, with a 1" by 1 1/4" cut in each side the length of the log where wood splines would be placed to join the logs. Made for fairly rapid construction and with logs vertical and stained as they were, we never had wood rot.

Our family camp was to me, and still is, like an oasis. Felt like when we turned the corner and headed down the camp road we could just plain relax and leave the burdens of work, school, and pressure behind. We could have been 50 miles away on some other lake and it wouldn’t have felt any different except we’d perhaps have been more tired from the ride.

There’s another thing about a camp which is unique. At least with ours. Projects including the camp itself were “works in progress.” Wanted them done; however, if not completed this year, perhaps next or year after that. For heat we had the fireplace, later a wood stove, much later a gas space heater. Bedrooms were small. We built on. Porch was just big enough for two chairs on either side of the log door. I built on after I’d purchased the camp from Dad. Decided we wanted more room, so I built on again and enclosed it with windows. In the process, Dad had built a boathouse which stored the family boat(s) and canoes for just about 5 years until he decided we should add a couple of built in bunk beds.... Suzanne and I had slept in over and under bunks and we both wanted our space and a place to have friends up for the weekends.

Several years went by, schools intervened, and folks decided the boathouse should be finished off inside so one or the other “cottages” could be rented in summer season to help pay the taxes. Worked okay and after I’d gotten clear of Uncle Sam’s army, we did more finishing including a new door and picture window in the front.

As I look back, I am most grateful that Dad and Mom did not build their getaway camp 20 or 40 miles away. Dad could play his most favorite sport, “golf” which he played whenever he had a spare minute. We could go to camp as simply having dinner or for an hour of bass fishing any night except in winter or we could go for the majority of summer. I could bring army buddies up for a weekend and still spend time with my parents. And now, now that AJ and I are spending our winters in Florida, as spring begins to bring the 80 and 90 degree weather, we think once again of our cabin on “Magic Lake.” It’s terrific bass and salmon fishing, it’s stunning sunsets, it’s proximity to three towns with great restaurants and whisper to my deceased parents, “I’m really glad you built the cabin...close to home.

• R E C I P E •

 

Red Cabbage Slaw (for 2)

1/4 head red cabbage, chopped
1/8 vidalia onion, chopped medium
Clove minced garlic
Large handful arugula
3 fresh basil leaves, chopped
1/4 t. salt
1/4 t. ground black pepper Pinch of white pepper
1 T. regular olive oil
1 t. Dijon mustard
1/8 t. gound fresh horseradish
1 t. natural cider vinegar
1 t. rice vinegar
Crumbled feta cheese and toasted walnuts

Combine the cabbage, onion, arugula and basil. In a separate small bowl combine the salt, 2 peppers, olive oil, horseradish, and 2 vinegars. Whisk and mix in with the first four items. Let set for 20 minutes or longer (I like it the next day as well) It’s a unique and delicious “slaw.” h

Fair Winds and Good Fishing
– Lee Wilbur