Laughter and Lessons of Faith from a Mountain Cabin

“If you could live anywhere, where would it be?”

For our oldest son, it is the Rocky Mountains, which he has never visited but imagines would be cool. For my husband, a beautiful mountain valley in the Alps. I too would live in the mountains, any mountains. Our youngest dreams of living in South Whack–a country of his own invention somewhere in southwestern Africa guarded by ducks. There are probably mountains there too.

We spent the next few days searching for our dream houses online. The alps were right out–even a small attic room crammed to the brim with broken exercise equipment and someone’s great grandmother’s aunt’s dresses was out of our budget. However, the Appalachians were in play–we could get a “shack in the woods” for pennies on the dollar. The structural integrity was dubious, but we were confident any issue could be fixed with a hearty application of duct tape.

A Vacation Home in the Mountains

Without knowing any of this, a week or so later, my husband’s lifelong friend graciously offered to let us stay at his vacation cabin, just outside (and by just outside, I mean a 25 min drive through the mountains) of Berkeley Springs, West Virginia.

Side note: On that 25 minute drive past Berkeley Springs, there is a 6-7 mile section of switchbacks to get from point A to point B. The road is complete with curves, steep drop offs with tiny guard rails, and a legit hairpin turn. The speed limit through this treacherous stretch, I kid you not, 55 mph. The only way anyone is doing 55 on this road is by careening off the side and falling at that clip. Our GPS, disappointed at our 25 mph average pace, added 2 minutes to our estimated arrival time. Somehow, I felt as though I had failed in some way.

So, a two hour drive plus traffic later, we found ourselves at a beautiful cabin miles from anything in the mountains.

When I say cabin, rather than a quaint, rustic moth-eaten home, this cabin is a 4 bedroom, 3 bath resort home with a screened in porch, billiards table, internet and electric. My husband’s friends are hard-working, and generous–wonderful friends to our family and great godparents to our oldest. Also, their taste in vacation homes is top-notch.

There we were, at the vacation home of our dreams. I expected to connect with God and have quality time with my family. Yet, what I learned at the cabin surprised (and amused) me. Let’s start with the hills…

Mountain Hikes: Uphill Both Ways

I am a runner/jogger. My running friends and I count any downhill distance as “free miles”. You just stretch out your legs and let gravity do the work. I have audibly scoffed at the idea of a “downhill mile”.

Then I went to the mountains…

These hills are steep. Imagine that hill from childhood that you would roll down. You’d make it to the bottom, stand up, watch the world spin, laugh, and then trudge to the top and repeat. (Years later, roll down, stand up, nearly vomit, and never repeat again).

Now make that hill half of a mile long. Driving up the hill is scary. The car struggles at 6 mph to ascend the beast. Visions of plummeting backwards to our doom cause heart-racing panic.

My husband drives down the hill. I just close my eyes and pray.

As an athletic mom of two very active boys, we spent a great deal of our time at the cabin hiking. To get from the top of the ridge (the cabin) to the Cacapon River, we enjoyed a “free half mile”. I expected getting back up to the top to be a show, but going down was going to be a breeze.

By the time we made it halfway down, our legs were screaming and we were trying to find alternate ways to cover the distance. Oldest suggested skipping. Youngest and myself nearly broke our necks trying–one wrong foot placement and you were toast. Youngest suggested a sideways slow-mo gallop. Nope–same muscles used. I suggested walking backwards. It still hurt, but a little less.

Eventually we reached the bottom and had a wonderful time playing in the river before making the return trip. We seriously considered calling daddy to come pick us up 200 m from the cabin. At that suggestion, youngest took off “sprinting”, taunting oldest and myself. I ran 10 m and gave up, legs burning.

Eaten Alive

I remember reading an article describing how, due to a number of factors, one of the most notable being cars, the number of bugs has dropped precipitously over the last few decades.

Not here. There are very few cars and a multitude of bugs.

In order to avoid being eaten while star-gazing, we wear long sleeves, pants, socks, and a hat. The bugs eat through that. So, we throw a blanket on top and pull it up to our noses. Our eyes aren’t as tasty and we survive.

This place is heaven for bats.

Silence

Even 25 minutes from nowhere, you can still hear an airplane, and, if the wind is blowing a certain way, local traffic. I think if we wanted complete silence, we’d need to go to the “shack in the woods”. I’m not ready for that….yet.

However, there are times up here when it is completely quiet. I never understood the expression “all I heard was crickets” until the cabin. Some nights, all you here are crickets and your own heartbeat. It is beautiful.

Darkness

There are no streetlights here. At night, without a flashlight, the only guide is the stars.

Oh, the stars are beautiful! We lie on our backs as the sun sets, covered to our eyes in bug protection and watch as one star after another appears. The first star one night was Arcturus, which youngest aptly named “Bootes’ hog” (it is indeed located at the groin area of the legendary herdsman–well played youngest). Minutes later, 15-20 points of light are visible. A made-up story or two following, the sky is a masterpiece. In the winter, once the sun fully sets, the full glory of the Milky Way appears.

I struggle with darkness, however. Even in places I know well, when I cannot see clearly what is in front of me, I am frightened.

At the cabin, I faced my fear head on. As I walked the mountainside with only moonlight to guide my way, I gradually let go of my fear of the unknown and trusted in God to guide my next steps, to keep me safe.

I realized that I didn’t have to see the way before me to feel safe. Even after returning to our home in Maryland, I was able to let go and live more in the moment, trusting God to guide my steps.

Mountain Vistas

During the first trip to the cabin (in November), I was beyond excited to be at my dream location. Within an hour, I was hiking to the top of the ridge to see the view. It was beautiful, but not what I was hoping for. Over the next two days, I hiked for several hours (20 mins here, 45 there), checking just around the next bend for that perfect spot where a gap in the trees would open. I was determined to capture the vision I knew had to be out there somewhere. On the final day of the trip, I plopped next to my husband on the couch on the porch, exhausted. My husband had spent a good portion of our vacation soaking in the view from the porch. I looked out, and laughed. The best view had been in front of me all along.

Heaven on Earth

In this was the most important lesson of all. On this Earth, all things are a mix of good and bad. With the beauty of the stars comes swarms of bugs. Beautiful vistas with the burning of leg muscles. The solitude of the mountains with the lack of human interaction that I had daily taken for granted. In any situation, heaven can be found if you know where to look.

I am grateful for the cabin. It’s hard to replace the campfire conversations with my husband, splashing in the river with oldest, meditating on the front porch, or cuddling under the stars with youngest, looking for Bootes’ hog. However, I am most grateful for the lessons I learned–to trust God in the darkness and to appreciate the heaven waiting right here and now, should I choose to open my eyes to it.