I recently had the pleasure of reading “Cabin: Off the Grid Adventures with a Clueless Craftsman” by Patrick Hutchison — a highly entertaining account of the Seattle-based author’s own haphazard experience buying and converting an old, “over-sized doghouse” into a livable cabin in the wilderness of the Cascade Mountains. For those of us who have dreamed of venturing out of our secure place — whether a comfortable house or city apartment — for cabin life in the woods, this book will resonate as well as give fair warning of the often crazy challenges that can arise with such an undertaking. I strongly recommend this book as a Christmas gift for those with even a passing interest in buying or restoring a cabin — or anyone who would enjoy a well-written story, humorously told, about persevering on a project that could be described as a whim.
Personally, I started thinking about “cabin life” quite early. As a child, I built forts out of dead leaves and snow discarded by those big snowplows used in western New York to clear roads. In later years, while living in New York City, I rented a cabin at Candlewood Lake for summer weekends. And, as some of you may know, it was during the early 1970s that I moved my family from the city into a ramshackle cottage in East Hampton that cost $28,000. That’s right, $28,000. I know it’s hard to imagine that one could buy a house for that — small change by today’s standards. We put more into it, though, as my late wife and I spent several years restoring the property to accommodate our family comfortably. Reading “Cabin” brought to mind so many of the frustrations and expensive obstacles we faced during the process.
“Cabin” also evokes many of the emotions that I felt over some 60 years, daydreaming as I read New York Times classifieds such as “remote Catskills cabin in need of fixing up” — in the days before the internet. It took me years before I found my ultimate “camp” in northern Maine on the New Brunswick border with East Grand Lake, not through a newspaper ad but by chance while visiting friends who had summered in the area for years. It was a dream cabin: it had running water and a toilet. My days of “roughing it” are behind me now, though, and at my age, I appreciate the creature comforts. After several years and much expense fixing it up, my cabin now comes with a walk-in fireplace, a tent on the lake for afternoon naps, a Defender Series 3 for deep dives into the woods for brookies, and even a dishwasher. I call my cabin “Home Waters” because it is where I finally found my place of peace. Good hunting to those who are looking for their own sanctuary in the woods —and keep a copy of “Cabin” in your backpack for inspiration.