Tyler Cabin Adventure II

The term "cabin" often connotes a small, rustic, and cozy structure intended for a retreat or a simplified mode of living. The Tyler cabin certainly fits this bill. It is a 24 x 32 foot structure with a single room and a bathroom on one floor. The only interior walls are those around the bathroom; the rest is open on from floor to ceiling. The bark is still on the interior surface of the logs, so it feels very rustic. When you put a crew of eight people in a one-room cabin, however, it goes from cozy to cluttered. Here's a shot of the cabin interior. Notice the retro lamp over the dining room table, copious plastic cups, and laptop.

Here's another shot, from the other direction. Uncle Jim is enjoying a tasty beverage; you can see the small wood stove that sits in the middle, stove pipe running up to the peak of the roof.

The two cots in the background, including their mattresses, are original to the cabin (1976). I suspect that if I contacted the CDC, their archives department would have an interest in taking them away (or Homeland Security, afraid of future bioweapons development).

I'm sure that some of you are wondering what we did with Sadie while we were gone. A few of you perhaps thought that we left her behind in Harpursville, to suffer being closed into the house while we had a rural camping adventure. Fear no more. Here's proof that our mutt came along with us, had the run of the cabin and the surrounding forest the whole time, and had eight people to convince that no one had fed her for at least three days. (I think she must have got at least two extra meals out of us, what with all the coming and going.)

A Tyler family characteristic is the collection of stuff for fear that "that might come in useful someday." I like to give it an acronym (because acronymns are sexier than the whole phrase): THiDAS. That's Tyler Historical Detritus Accumulation Syndrome. Who knows when someone--particularly the large number of family members disproportionately interested in history--might want access to that piece of paper or that object? Who knows if that--teapot, loose screw, napkin, or bit of string--might come in handy someday? We don't know, so we save it! Here is just one stack of things that could not be thrown out by earlier generations.

I suppose I can't complain about THiDAS too much. The plastic-wrapped piece of blonde oak furniture in the picture is a cabinet that someone made for Jim some years ago that he doesn't have space for (!) at home. But Jim figured someone might want it some day. So Sara and I are going to take it and put in in our house.

I mentioned the squatters. We're pretty sure that over one hundred generations of mice have called this cabin home. And as much as we appreciate the emotional attachment these rodents have to the abode of their great-great-great-great . . . grandparents, this appreciation does not exceed our repulsion for their detritus and tendency to carry disease. So we did what we could to evict this generation and future generations from the cabin. On the front lines of this effort stood Krissy, our most intrepid cleaner. Here she is with one mop-load of mouse-residue extracted from the pantry.
Kudos to my sister-in-law, who goes where angels fear to tread. I guess she's as extreme as Geo, but in a different way.

~emrys