Road Trip Wednesday is a ‘Blog Carnival’ hosted by YA Highway. They post a weekly writing- or reading-related question for participants to answer on their own blogs.
I don’t normally write at a desk. I find it too stuffy, too… formal, and it stifles my creativity. Besides, any flat surface I come in contact with tends to disappear under piles of books and notebooks and journals and loose leaf paper. Even now, I’m sitting in my bed, my covers pulled up over my legs to ward off the chill brought on by the approaching rainstorm. I don’t even currently own a desk.
So as I spent the day contemplating my ideal writing space for this week’s Road Trip Wednesday, my mind entertained a variety of ideas: a cushion set on a wide window ledge in a sunlit personal library. A gazebo in the middle of an orchard. Tacky white wicker furniture on a wraparound porch, lemonade on the glass-topped table next to me and a cat curled up on the cushion of a matching chair.
I searched through some pictures, hoping for some inspiration to help me choose just the right one. And then I found it. It was so perfect that I was surprised I hadn’t thought of it right away.
Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to
The Cabin on Dotty Lake
(Photo credits: Some are mine, some are from family history, and some I’m not sure. Family, if any of these photos are yours, please let me know so I can credit you!)
This one room cabin was built by my grandparents in the 1940’s. My Grandma (a fabulous writer herself) kept a record during the construction process that talks about how they would buy logs that still had their bark. As she and Grandpa stripped the bark off, their pants would be saturated with pine tar so completely that when they changed out of their clothes in the evening, they could literally stand their pants up in a corner.
It has been in our family for 4 generations now.
I’m the baby in the bottom picture.
This is the place where I grew up. We moved so much that I can’t really call any one place “home”. But the cabin was always there.
We always went back. When I get homesick, this is what I ache for.
This is a place of magic. I cannot help but feel inspired when I fall asleep to this:
and wake up to this:
Who can’t feel their soul dance with writing companions like these?
I don’t need a fancy desk. I don’t even need a laptop and electricity (because there certainly isn’t any here). All I need is a notebook, a bag of black Papermate ball point pens, and a ride home.
And maybe a fishing license.