The cabin dreams.
First dream:
Chopping wood on a brisk October morning, the sun having just come up behind me, and its weakened but welcome warmth caresses the back of my neck. I chop logs for my old iron stove and raise my axe for another swing; It’s honed blade sharpened before each session.
I work up a light sheen of sweat. My chill-touched cheeks ruddy with exertion and cold. I feel that comfortable burn in my chest and arms, especially my forearms. This means I’ll have a good excuse to soak in a nice hot bath after dinner.
I stop for a breath, taking a deep lungful of air; sharp, crisp, and invigorating.
The heavy, humid, stale air of New Orleans is forgotten if only for a blissfully short time.
I take off my jacket, having worked my temperature to a level that keeps the worst of the chill at bay. I still feel the air and it rejuvenates me. The sun warming, like a slowly recharging battery, I feel my soul filling back in, and reclaiming its rightful space. Fortifying me for another day; adding to my tremulous internal support.
In the distance, I hear one of the dogs baying, having, in all probability, treed another squirrel. A few seconds later, the others joining him in his hunter's game. With the last of the wood cut, I stack it in a neat row, four foot high and four foot long. Not a bad job for a few hours work. The sun is high now and I can smell lunch wafting through the trees. It’s amazing how well aromas travel in this air; this perfect quiet so full of nothing more than nature’s sounds. No cars or sirens or radios; no ever-present background hum of a thousand power lines carrying their life juices to hundreds of thousands of people who squander it.
Grabbing up my jacket, I pick up five or six chunks of wood for later, I whistle over my shoulder to the dogs. Their answering barks catching up to me mere seconds before they do. They dance around me as we stamp through the light morning snow. The gentle crunch of it underfoot lulls me into another level of joy. I turn around on my porch and take a last look around. The naked trees surrounding my property, framing the mountains in the distance. The sun is shining against the peak, casting rainbows of color across the sky. Like frozen firework blossoms in broad daylight. It never fails to astonish me.
As I reach for the knob of my cabin door, the smell of lunch hits me in the face, making me drool like one of my dogs. I turn the knob and push the door open to awaken...
Another 80 degree humid day. Overcast skies assault my eyes again. The noises are too many and too varied to name them all. With one last whiff of autumn mountain air, my dogs, my life, my lunch fade away and take my joy with them.
I’m back.
Home
Second Dream:
As the door opens, Lildog runs between my legs; almost knocking me over in her enthusiasm to enter the cabin. I chuckle as I step through the door. Bigdog slowly plods behind me, content to enter at his own pace. He’s at the age where his personality is close to mine. Slow and steady wins the race. Lildog thinks we’re both old bores, I’m sure.
Dropping the wood off by the stove, I put in a few pieces and stoke up the fire as Bigdog waits patiently for me to move from his favorite snooze spot. I check the crock pot and stir up the stew. The smell that fills the air makes the dogs perk up and sniff the air. Bigdog licking his jowls in preparation and Lildog’s tail wags so hard it almost spins her around. She’s always good for a smile. Her energy keeps Bigdog and me from feeling too old most of the time. Other times, she wears us both out. But we both love her in our own way.
Even with the stew about an hour from being perfect, I spoon out a few ladles over some dry food and set it out for the dogs. They attack it like they hadn’t just eaten this morning. Lildog looking up often to make sure no one is going after her food. When she does that it saddens me. The pound rescued puppy must have had some lean times and a few years of the good life hasn’t erased that memory in her adorable little noggin.
My morning of labor and the quiet cabin work together on me as I sat reading one of my favorite books. Confederacy of Dunces. An amazing book with such a tragic history for the author.
I had just started reading it again so I was at one of my favorite parts. When poor Mrs. Reilly
is attempting to drive them both home. If you’ve ever read it, you know the part.
My eyes get heavy as Bigdog lumbers over to the couch and plops down a few inches from my dangling left hand. Lildog, in her own bid for attention, comes up and pounces on my chest, demanding that I put down the book and pat her.
I scritch-scritch them both for a few seconds and I fell asleep.
Back again in Nola. The day is warm but not hot. Much more livable than the last time. The fan running by my head drowning out most of the neighborhood noise. But in the back of the house, I hear my landlady’s little hyper dog barking up a storm. Her staccato yips telling me she’s taunting the other dog again. Trying to get him to chaise her. No wonder I have these dreams. A little build on reality I guess. I still miss that place when I wake up but now that the weather is a bit nicer, it’s easier to come home.
Third Dream:
I woke up this morning with Big Dog sticking his nose into the small of my back. He was anxious about something and I always take his lead when it comes to mornings. Not because I think he knows something I don’t but because he will outlast me in the annoyance category every time. He’s a stubborn old thing even if he doesn’t have the boundless energy of Lildog.
Wrapping my comforter around my shoulders, I ease myself to the floor to let the dogs out. As my feet touch the wood, I mentally begrudge him his thick padding on his paws.. I shoot him a dirty look, which of course, he ignores and we plod to the front door. I’d trade Lildog for some thicker socks right now.
Bigdog brushes through the door before I even get it open all the way, intent on getting to his business. Someone must have drank a lot from the toilet last night. Maybe I need to put the lid down; but my ex-wife’s constant complaining about that makes me not want to ever do that again. Women should just learn to LOOK behind them when they sit down.
Lildog comes trotting out pretty as you please, taking only enough steps to find a sunny spot on the porch and immediately plops down to sleep again. She can’t reach the toilet bowl.
I follow her out to a warm, sunny spot on the porch, glad that it extends to my favorite rocker. My poor frozen toes thaw a little in the early Spring morning. The boards beneath my feet having soaked up just the perfect warmth and my chair was not far behind. Both squeak comfortably as I put my weight on them.
Lildog saw her opportunity and filled my lap in one quick jump, circling her customary three times and going back to sleep.
Bigdog barks and goes trotting across my field of vision. He’s reliving old hunts and wants me to see he’s still up for the task. I smile as I rock Lildog on my lap. Comfortably sleepy but awake enough to enjoy this brilliant morning with my two best friends. The panorama of the lake down the hill and a bit and the mountains in the distance join to make a comfortable scene to relax in. The spring warmth was just creeping into the air and a loft or warmer breeze brushes my cheek, reminding me that winter was coming to a close. The little patches of snow would be gone in a day or two. No more sleeping under five blankets. Soon, it would only be 3 blankets. Provisions were getting a little low and I would soon have to rumble up the old pick-up and head to the store down in the village. But for now, I will just sit and enjoy my morning, content in my life and petting Lildog. Just wish I had some coffee.
Fourth Dream:
We buried Lildog this morning; our little clown is gone. Bigdog seemed to understand what was going on and in his own way, he mourned. I put her in the shade of her favorite napping tree. Not that she ever seemed to nap for long. That was Bigdog and I. But she would lie there with him sometimes, at least until the excitement of the world got too much for her and she would either run off to find mischief or pester Bigdog until he had to defend himself or lose his tail.
As we put her in the ground, Bigdog never left my side. Occasionally sniffing her little box and looking at me as if he was asking why she wouldn’t jump right out and harass him some more. She was the young one of our little family. She should not have left us first. They say a parent should never have to bury their child. It is very true, no matter what type of child it was.
I took Bigdog into town for a little away-time. I hope it will give us both a little space from the memories of the morning. We parked at the edge of town by the grocery store and went for a walk. Bigdog keeping close to my side like old times. No Lildog to distract us both. We could never let her off the leash in town for fear she would run away. At the time it was annoying. Right now I would give anything for her to drag us down the street just to sniff at a fallen leaf. Like there were none in our little valley home. I think that it is a sad thought to realize we won’t be woken up at all hours of the night to find her valiantly protecting the evening property from a wandering squirrel. Bigdog walks beside me, his tail limp and keeping his own counsel.
After our walk, I put Bigdog in the back of the truck so he can receive all his pats from the locals who just can’t seem to get enough of his friendly, yet stoic, demeanor. Instead of standing up at the back, he sulks to the front , lies down, and looks up at me with his head on his paws. Today, he is not in the mood for outside company. I can relate. I tell him he is a good boy. His tail thumps once and then is still. I go into the store.
I pay for our groceries and realize why it costs less this week. A year and a half of buying almost the exact things each week has become a habit. Today, the total is exactly minus Lildog’s favorite snacks. I go back and get them anyway.
Bigdog stays in the back of the truck on the way home. He doesn’t get up to the side to look around. He stays where he was. If he’s comfortable, who am I to bother him? He’s spent the last year or so with a constant companion who, in reality, never gave him a moment’s rest. Bigdog needs a break. Tonight will be his first night without Lildog in a long time. I wonder how he will handle it.
As I’m getting out of the truck, a little white streak shoots along my peripheral vision and my heart skips. It’s probably an albino squirrel, but for a moment I was as excited as a child at the fair. The arch enemy of my Lildog disappears before I get a good look at it.. Opening the truck gate, I call Bigdog. He doesn’t move. I peer at him in the blue-tinged twilight and I know he won’t be missing his playmate anymore. At the same corner of my sight, I see a larger shadow where the white one was earlier and I know, Bigdog will be running after his little playmate in a way he was unable to do in his old body. He will finally give her a run for her money. Through watery eyes, I wish them grassy hills to run on; dark nooks to explore; unlimited squirrels to chase and never another moment of loneliness. I am sure I will have more than enough to go around.
I head to the shed to get my tools; leaving the groceries where they sit. Right now, I have to make another box. This one a bit larger.
Fifth Dream:
I woke up cold and alone. It had been many years since I lost Lildog and Bigdog on the same day. Today was the anniversary of the day we brought her home. A little white bundle of energy that made Bigdog nervous and wondering, I am sure, if I had done this just to torture him. Of course, later, he loved her as much as I did. No. He loved her more. While her parting destroyed a part of me, I did not give up on life. Not then at least.
I never got any more animals. I could not replace my friends and I never tried. My solitary life here has been just that. As time passed, I began to do less and less in the world of man and more and more, I have withdrawn into myself and my memories. They really are all I have left and all I care to have anymore.
I am an old man now and the cold seeps into my bones so strongly that there are days when I know I will never be warm again. It is close to noon now and the snow is falling even harder and faster than it was when I went to bed. I don't really care. I didn't make it to the town before the blizzard hit so there will be no food soon. There is nothing I can do about it now. In a month when the passes clear, it won't matter if I had gotten a few cans of soup or some bread. I won't be here to care anymore.
It has been 4 days since the power went out and a 3 days since the water froze without the electric warmers keep them open. I am sure my water tank has burst at this moment. The thirst is strong but it is not as strong as the cold. I pull myself out from under my blankets and go to the door. It takes some fighting but I manage to get it open. The snow has drifted to knee level and I know I won't be able to close the door again. That too is fine. I really have no intention of doing so.
I go around my cabin; my home for so many years. Sadly, now the majority of those years have been alone. The ghosts of my friends still haunt me. They are waiting at the edge of my vision. Little glimpses to remind me of what I lost. They are calling me. Sometimes I can even hear them yipping for me. Well, Lildog yipped. Bigdog just woofed in his deep bass voice. I smile when I remember how many times Lildog would be running around him, jumping over his back and generally harassing the poor dog. He would take it until he could not anymore. With one of his big Woofs, he would stop her in her tracks, stunned for a second. He would always look up at me as if to say, "Sorry pops, but I just couldn't take it anymore".
I continue my circuit of the house. My hands are aching and tears are running down my face, crystal against my withered old skin. I open every window I can manage and go back to bed and lie on top of the covers.
I am tired.
I close my eyes and in the distance I hear them. They are playing and running; I am sure they are still chasing those squirrels. I think back and remember the wish I made for their happiness and I know it came true. They are running along endless green hills. Their pain forgotten and I want to be with them again.
I feel my body fading. My fingers no longer feel the cold, I can no longer feel the frozen paths of tears along my face. I can hear my friends better now. they are coming to collect me. We will play our games again. We will have our family back and I will not be alone anymore.
...
"Hi guys...I missed you so much...Yeah...I'm coming"
6th dream
I am on my motorcycle, riding through back roads, far away from civilization. It is late summer or early fall and that first crispness is in the air. Not steady, but cool puffs of chill that would come and go; a promise of things to come more than a condition of the day.
The leaves are dull, as if saving energy for their coming transformation to brilliance. Wearing my half helmet, I can feel the air hit my face as I ride. No sound but my cycle and the crunch of the gravel under my wheels.
I don't know why I traveled here. There was no plan, just a need to be alone and free for a little bit. To know there is no one I need to answer to and nothing I need to do. Just the small bits of freedom that makes the rest of the week fade into the fog in the back of my mind.
I cross a small bridge; the creek it covers could barely be considered water, and the tiny bridge faded, but once well taken care of.. Just past is a mailbox. It is then that I realize this has been one large driveway. Obvious in looking at it, that someone wanted their privacy.
Noticing my front tire is a little low, I ride a little farther, hoping the owner would have a pump I could use until I got back to civilization. The next curve in the road brought me to a tidy little cabin. Doors and windows open and an old pick-up truck, tires flat and unused, sitting before it.
Sadness flows over me as I park my bike and walk toward the cabin. There is a strong current of dread creeping into my head. I know what I will see but I have to know for sure. I know the place from my dreams but I know those are only dreams. In the yard, by the garden and under a large tree, are two graves. Marked with stones, and two simple names etched upon them. I crouch beside one and run my hand over the stones, feeling the emotion poor from the stone, left from the man who had made it.
The stones are smooth in places as I touch them, as if I am mimicking the motions of another man who, often, would come here and sit with the graves and touch the names upon them.
Taking a deep and steadying breath, I approach the open front door, my steps slowing and my breathing speeding up.
There are stains on the once shiny floor just past the threshold, as if the door had been open for some time; there is dust and disrepair all over the room. I know where I am and what is here.
I back out and close the door behind me. I am afraid to go farther. Afraid to see what I know will be in the tiny bedroom. Knowing that I don't need to see to know what is there. Somehow, I know. And that is enough.
The spirits of this place are at rest and there is no reason to disturb them. I walk around the property and know this was a good place. The views here for every season are as familiar to me as the view from my own window. I gather some wildflowers and place them upon the smaller grave. I know in my heart that the larger one needs no adornment but is where it should be, beside the smaller. Both are where they need to be.
I stand up and look around one last time, I see my bike and remember the reason I stopped here. Or at least I remember the obvious reason.
Somehow, I know where the tire pump will be and I know that the owner would not mind me using it.
It’s time for me to go home.
Almost a full year of my dreams are here. I doubt there will be any more. I think it's played itself out as far as it needs to go. But if there are more, I'll add them here when I get a chance.
I have given thought to fleshing this out one day. Maybe sometime soon.