For our 26th wedding anniversary Rob and I rented a cabin near Mount Shasta — an area we had never hiked. 
The cabin fit within our budget and was advertised as offering “all the state-of-the-art amenities of 1923.” 
It wasn’t exactly true as we were sure this bird’s nest was built within the year. 
And I’m pretty sure the full-sized refrigerator, left outdoors to withstand wind, rain and snow, was from the 1960s. 
A hole was drilled through the entire outer structure of the cabin and the fridge was plugged into an outlet on the kitchen ceiling. 
Searching for outlets became a game and we surmised that if we used the toaster we would have to stand on a chair and plug it into the ceiling, holding it all the while. Luckily, we weren’t dying for toast. 
The kitchen sink was large, which was nice since it had to serve as the bathroom sink, as well. Unfortunately, I wasn’t strong enough to turn the faucet handles myself, and Rob had to turn the water on and off for me as I carefully cleaned my contacts. 
But there were thoughtful touches, like a safety pin attached to the bedroom curtains so we could secure them closed — otherwise neighbors might watch us sleeping. 
I know I’m being a little hard on our pre-1929 market crash hobo-like accommodations, but honestly the cabin was charming in its own way. 
And it had a great view out back.
Photos © Sondra Sula.
Take a walk with me by reading my daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.
If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.
On a vacation I’m pretty amenable to suggestions. As long as the suggestions don’t involve hiking in a treeless environment in temperatures over one hundred degrees, or driving at night, I’m game. That’s how I ended up eye to eye with an ichthyosaur: a sculpture of one, to be exact.
My husband, Rob, wanted to go to the Berlin Ichthyosaur Museum, but naturally, after driving a mere four hours out of our way, it was closed. Like forlorn children, we peered through the windows at the in-situ bones and life-size replica of the extinct marine reptile caught forever swimming through the air.
At least it was only ninety-eight degrees
with heat rising from the metal roof like reverse shivers.
I could see why this place had given up its ramshackle ghost.
And I was ready to abandon it as well.
Even if it did have a few trees alongside the tumbleweeds.
Yet I stayed until Rob had explored everything he wanted to see because that’s what partners do: support one other while silently whining. And before too long, as dusk was falling, we were back on the road—forty-seven miles of dangerous, rough gravel road to be exact. But I was amenable to that because Rob was driving.
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 