I’m typing this on the deck of a log cabin deep in the woods of the Blue Ridge Mountains of West Virginia, somewhere near the town of Mathias and Lost River State Park, 15 miles from the nearest store or filling station, further from any cell phone coverage, and even further from any work obligations for the next two weeks or so. My companion and I set out from New York yesterday morning, cats and bags and groceries in the back, traveling south and west first by interstate and then by state and local route and finally by dirt road, until we got here, somewhere around
38 degrees 54 minutes north by 78 degrees 53 minutes west, in a quiet forest cabin that I haven’t seen in almost 20 years, owned by close friends of my family. And, yes, I confess: I promptly plugged my wireless router into the DSL modem and am completely loving the peace and quiet out here in this secluded space, the hummingbirds and whippoorwills, while being able to, well, do this.
We stopped by today and took a look at my Dad’s as yet unfinished cabin, a 15-minute walk away.
On the way, we caught this view of the place where we’re staying, from across the creek.
It’s called Moss Hill, for the moss that’s growing on the approach from the front.
The original cabin — the one I recall, without the electricity or the running water that it has now — is the central structure.
And my companion and I are loving spending time on the deck, in beautifully clear and perfectly temperate weather, with nothing at all to worry about.
The title for this post, “
The mountains People of the mountains are always free,” is carved prominently into the interior structure of the cabin. Life is good.