Well, the kids have just knocked out their second week of school and for the first time in 35 years, I did NOT go back to school. And you know, it feels okay. Actually, pretty darn good. Seasons change and this new season I’ve dipped into feels like the direction I’m meant to go. Today I’m taking a break from finalizing my business website to write about The Cabin.
The Cabin
A little back story is in order: The Cabin was constructed around 1950 by my paternal grandfather, Bob Mattecheck and a couple of amateur builders. I don’t know how many nails my granddad actually hammered, but that’s beside the point. The Cabin was erected as a small rustic (it didn’t get indoor plumbing till the late 1960’s) structure on the banks of the Metolius River in Central Oregon. The mysterious Metolius originates from a bubbly, pure spring at the base of Black Butte, just about a mile upstream from The Cabin. It riffles by tranquilly just steps from our porch.
The kids love to wade in the shallow, easy current or throw rocks or feed the fish in the “blue hole” with bits of bread or stone flies. This summer Uncle Matt plunged in as a river guide for the kiddos! Us big kids grab our moments to just sit, relax, or read in a camp chair by the river’s edge. The spirit of the Metolius is just so calming….and restorative.
The Cabin sits on U.S. Forest land in the tiny hamlet of Camp Sherman, which we lease and will never own. Details of this lease are a whole separate blog post, but hopefully our family can lease the land forever. Majestic ponderosa pine trees dominate the landscape and provide loads of simple entertainment: building forts, scampering over fallen logs, and peeling off the jigsaw shaped bark just for the hell of it.
Camp Sherman consists of a general store, post office, and a two room school house. The Store supplies basic groceries, some gifty items and renowned fly shop in the back. Like The Cabin, The Store’s timelessness is a great comfort.
Warren Snyder, expert fly fisherman
Even though we never buy much, it’s a destination in itself. Situated about a mile and a half upstream, we love walking to The Store along the river. This summer a mini farmer’s market set up camp on a Saturday morning.
Like Camp Sherman, The Cabin’s tiny. With only two bedrooms and one small bathroom, the property ends up looking like a shanty town.
Three tents get pitched, the porch overflows with clothes, shoes, and toys, and the yard’s littered with magazines, newspapers, books (my family loves to read), balls, bats, and bikes. This year 16 (my parents, my siblings, spouses, their kids, and the Nice family) of us holidayed at The Cabin for the weekend! And my two younger sisters and their hubbies don’t have kids yet….it’s only going to get merrier as the years clip by!
Depending on my life stage, The Cabin has meant different things to me. As a kid I anticipated that week all year long. No surprise – most kids thrive on tradition and repetition. I loved exploring nature and the freedom from routine. We spent hours doing all kinds of imaginative play and found a lot of joy in simple things. Chasing chipmunks, walking to the rock fort, feeding the fish at the blue hole, riding bikes to the bridge or the horse stables.
As a teenager and college student, my interest at The Cabin shifted to all the outdoor and recreational pursuits like hiking, biking, lake swimming, playing tennis and pingpong. I also loved sharing The Cabin with friends, and knowing they enjoyed it filled me with a sense of pride and happiness. When Jason and I dated and then married, we continued to seize all the outdoor opportunities (he fell under the spell of the Metolius for its world-class fly fishing) but used The Cabin more as a pause in our summer travels. I don’t recall ever staying more than a few days during those years.
Playing bocce ball with Aunt Mary
And then, we became parents. As my mom says sagely, The Cabin is hard on babies and toddlers. Well, yeah, ‘cause it’s basically glorified camping. Those years, albeit precious, loped by in a blur of bumps and scrapes (stumbling off the porch steps), smudgy faces, baths in the pea-green plastic tub, and attempted naps so mom and dad could get a break. At the time it felt like more work than being at home! I remember all too clearly Jason and I asking each other, “Will going to The Cabin ever feel like a vacation again??”
Uncle Brian warms up for the campfire.
And now, we’re enjoying prime golden years with the kids. The Cabin, once again, feeds all of us. Nowadays the kids hop on their bikes and cruise to the bridge or the horse stable. The kids are drawn to explore the woods and the river just like I was as a kid. They play endlessly when the cousins join us and I can actually read a chapter of my book uninterrupted.We can hike to the mountaintop with only minimal whining. This year we crested to the summit of Black Butte and were rewarded with breathtaking 360 degree views. Eight Cascade peaks glimmered in the summer sky.
I’d be lying if I declared The Cabin was perfect. Huh-uh. In fact, I’ve been known to gripe about its lack of amenities in recent years. Guess I’m getting soft and my creature comforts mean more now that I’m, ahem, more mature! Yes, we’ve got running water and carpet in the bedrooms (except 90% of the time we sleep in the tent or on the porch) but there’s no dishwasher, washing machine, dryer, TV, or electric heat. The wood fireplace did get upgraded to propane about a decade ago, and around that same time we added a landline (no cell service unless we drive about 8 miles up the highway!) But the luxury stops there.
It's Molly and Brian's turn to whip up dinner for 16.
A revelation occured to me this summer. Blame it on my sharpened perspective from Semester at Sea. It dawned on me with the clarity of a Metolius sunrise: The Cabin stands as a constant. A true sense of place. Despite all the places I’ve lived in and places I’ve visited, The Cabin never, ever changes.
The dining room table has seen a few poker games over the years!
It’s been the same forever: the same round dining room table, the same checkered wallpaper in the blue bedroom, the same leaky faucet in the bathroom, the same pine paneling on the walls. I realized what a huge comfort this is to me at transitions in my life. A gift.
Instead of bemoaning the hour it takes to wash dishes after a meal, this summer I focused on how I love eating on those sturdy plastic plates. Those “unchippable” Brookpark dishes are the same dishes my grandmother, Mary Mattecheck, bought for The Cabin some 60 years ago. I never knew Grammy Mary and it’s so not fair. She was tragically killed in a car accident (my granddad and she were driving to The Cabin) just a few months after my parents were married. Those dishes, and every item in The Cabin, are a tangible link to my heritage.
Along those same lines, The Shed stands on the exact spot where the outhouse once stood. The Shed stores everything from old blankets and rusty tools to Louis Lamour paperbacks and an old croquet set. There’s also a four-legged refrigerator, circa 1955, that keeps our beverages cool, if not totally cold. You have to really slam the door to make sure it latches and keep the arctic air in. A newer fridge would be so much more practical!
My grandparents' names, Bob and Mary Mattecheck, on a plaque near the Camp Sherman store.
But this summer reminded me how, just like the dishes, that decrepit fridge connects me to my roots in ways that can’t be quantified. The Cabin was a labor of love for my grandparents and endures today as a tribute to their spirit.
Oftentimes our weather is less than stellar even in the middle of August. But this summer the sun scorched through the shady pines, forcing us to cool off in the river and seek patches of shade. Heat has a way of slowing life way down, even when you’re on vacation. Everybody takes their turn on the hammock!
One of our favorite things is eating outside with the view of Black Butte looming to the south. Everybody takes turns cooking dinner and the privilege of kitchen clean-up duty.
One evening the temperature dropped and sky darkened in less than a half hour. We brought in the table settings, ripped the cushions off the outdoor furniture and moved the picnic table onto the cluttered porch. After we’d dished up a scrumptious meal (courtesy of Molly and Brian) and settled in on the porch, the curtain raised for a brilliant thunderstorm. Lightning flashed and cracked and the thunder drum-rolled temptuously. Talk about a show for the ages! The kids shrieked in delight and we all reminisced about The Cabin thunderstorms from our childhoods. What a night.
Mutti (what the grandkids call my mom) and my niece, Rachel.
As you can tell, The Cabin has been my (our) summer haven every year of my life. I take it for granted most of the time but thankfully this summer I could be mindful of what a gift it is. I remember similar feelings after the college semester I studied abroad in Europe. It seems the more places I experience, the more I appreciate The Cabin and what it symbolizes.
Hiking to the rock fort!
Next time you’re cruising east on Highway 20, take the Camp Sherman exit. Motor down the road about five miles, then turn onto the gravel road at the Tract C sign. You’ll find The Cabin around a few dusty bends, nestled among the Ponderosa pines. Stop by and say hello – friends are always welcome at The Cabin!
Mutti and Granddad with their grandkids - this has become an annual photo!
Experiential Passage 