Wednesday, October 14, 2009

A bit of wanderlust

I spent a little time over the weekend exploring a part of the island I rarely visit, and one of the road ends I explored went by a beautiful old summer cabin that sat on an elbow of land on the edge of the bay.

The cabin had been painted red, with a sweet front porch only steps from the water and a charming little sandy beach, but the windows were boarded up and there were no trespassing signs everywhere. The yard was glorious -- a child's paradise of wise old trees and gracious lawn -- and in the back was this abandoned shed, and the table with its teapot, undisturbed.

I fell in love, I have to admit; I cannot fathom why something so beautiful sits unused and unloved in such a desirable location. What tragedy explains this waste? And then, sadly, the greed kicks in, and I begin to imagine having it as my own; spending my latter days there with my husband, turning the shed into a studio, someday having grandchildren come to play in the shed and the yard... Why is it that there is this drive to possess, to acquire, to take things for our own? Is not the life we have enough? What is it in us that's always seeking more, or different?

Or is it just that the child in me -- who moved every 3 1/2 years -- is restless again? We've now lived in this place longer than I've ever lived anywhere in my entire life -- over 8 years -- and it shouldn't be surprising that a lifelong habit of moving would kick in from time to time and lust for change. Perhaps I'll sit with that a bit, befriend the child who longs to move again and ask her what she's looking for, and what drives her restlessness. It could just be she only needs a hug.

2 comments:

Maureen said...

Perhaps by imagining this cabin's story (I would think it probably has more than one), thought of its possession (by you) would seem less pressing. Imagine it loved as you love it. Imagine it the haunt of a child who later becomes an artist, a "shooter" of nature's gifts. Breathe-in the experience of it (to paraphrase poet Muriel Rukeyser). Breathe-out the place it fills in your heart.

karen gerstenberger said...

"Whose woods these are I think I know..." This posting brings to mind a place that is near my family home. I have loved it for many years, too. The trees are so beautiful that they are hard to describe: large, wide, leafy, bulgy, inviting for climbing.
The story I have heard about it is that it's frozen in large-family-inheritance-disagreement-limbo. Tragic, when it could be loved and enjoyed. Thank you for recalling its beauty here. XO