Just before I was born, my parents moved all 9 of us out of the city and headed for the woods.
Mom had always wanted a log cabin in the woods so they decided it was time to make it happen.
We cut down and treated the trees and from the foundation to the roof, we built the entire thing ourselves (with a little help from friends). It took a few years of hard work and manual labor, but we got it done.
It was a simple place, two seperate lofts, one bathroom, a woodstove for heat, a big living space and a 9 foot long, handmade wooden table where we gathered for all our meals and loud, crazy card games.
It was down a 1/2 mile long lane that was off a road in the middle of nowhere, deep in the woods with a creek that ran behind it at the base of the hill.
In the winter we went sledding down the hill next to the cabin and named it the "Death Trap", in the summer during the day it was swimming in the creek and at night it was playing hide and seek and big, raging bonfires.
There was always music being played and nonstop visits from friends. There was loud laughter and also quiet conversations.
It's where I learned to swim and climb a tree and cook and read and ride a bike and a horse and it's where I got the chicken pox and helped teach our dog so many tricks.
It was the place where all my favorite memories were born. And some of those don't involve laughter, some involve tears. It's the place that hundreds of people came to support us when my sister was killed in an accident. It was the place I sat on porch and cried when I watched my other sister and her new husband drive off towards their new life in Colorado.
It was home. Humble, rustic, simple, home. And then, in keeping with the theme of life, circumstances changed and my parents decided it was in the best interest of the family to move.
The cabin was sold to a family member but eventually they moved on as well until it was a stranger living in the house my father built.
I used to still go back there once and a while, once not long after mom died and again after losing dad. I'd knock on the door to see if I could meet the person living there, tell them I hoped they took care of my home for me. No one ever answered. So I would just stand there and hear the memories of my childhood and stare at the tree that used to have a tire swing on it and realize it really is as big as it was when I was little.
When my brother, John came to my house one night a few years ago, we talked about the cabin and all the silly, sweet things we remembered. He said, "I wish we could buy it back". And then this idea neither of us planned on, was born and we made a pact that if it ever went for sale again we would buy it and he would live there and the rest of the family could use it/visit whenever we wanted. Because even though we left that little place in the woods, it never left us; to this day, seventeen years after her passing, I still have dreams that I'm talking to my mom. And every time we are there at the cabin, either wading down the creek or sitting on the porch.
John understood and that's why we made a promise to each other. But then life happened again and suddenly and shockingly, he died and I was alone with the idea. So one day, a few months after his funeral, I drove back and I knocked on the door again. No one answered. But this time I jotted down a quick note: "You don't know me, but my name is JoHannah Greene and my parents built this cabin. If you're ever interested in selling, I'd love to know first" and I left it in the door.
A year and a half later, three days ago, my phone rang. He wasn't even trying to sell, but he is willing to if I can get the funds. So here I am, asking for your help. My sister and I are going to pool our funds but we'll still be a little short so if you can help, that would be amazing.
It's not everyday we have a chance to reach back and grab a hold of our family legacy but I am going to do everything in my power to do just that. Every little bit helps so thanks for reading my story and please share with anyone you can.
Much love to you my friends!
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