A sense of ease descended over me as we left the house in a flurry of packed clothes, forgotten things and friends yet to be met. Pulling out of the driveway it all left my mind. We were on our way to a weekend that couldn’t possibly go awry.
The trip up to the cabin was quiet, Mark and I said little, listened to music and gorged ourselves on potato chips and Casey’s gas shop pizza slices - washed down with Root Beer and Monster drink.
It was dark by the time we ascended into the hills that led to the campground - confusing roads, two gates over cattle guards and a road that left Mark white-knuckled and worried about the undercarriage of his beloved Dieter finally brought us to the top of the hill where we would meet up with our friends. We were greeted by the gregarious and as-of-yet un-met Justin from Chicago who was the only one with the wheels (and the balls) to take us down the winding and washed-out path to our cabin. In tow was our once-met friend Jason from Minneapolis. We loaded our belongings into the truck, held on for dear life and made our way down the road to the cabin.
A fire was burning briskly in the pit and our friends Mark and Ron greeted with big smiles and hugs along with the delightful and also as-of-yet un-met Aunt Joe. Months of online chats and messages, weeks of planning and many, many miles amongst the lot of us had finally brought us all together.
After a quick chuck of our belongings into our tent and a change into cooler clothes, we found ourselves sitting around the fire chatting it up as if we had been friends for years prior.
We were soon sharing memories, stories, truths to be told, and digging into each other with vigor and humor that only dear friends dare share. Food was thrown to cook by the fire, beers were tipped and we chatted until our eyes defied our will to stay awake.
Morning called us with bright light and an air heavy with humidity and heat. Priority one was coffee. Lots and LOTS of coffee. The gas-range percolator was at constant attention bubbling with dark-brown deliciousness and a smell so divine that even the arid air couldn’t suppress. We downed it like water and I found myself refilling and setting it to boil again after each cup was filled full. Sausages and soggy unbuttered hashbrowns were met with scrambled eggs (and to my dismay, no ketchup) along side countless boxes of generic pop-tarts and the odd bagel with vegetable cream cheese.
Stomachs full and the heat of the day upon us, we set to work arranging the day - a trip to the store followed by a canoe ride down the not-so-mighty Raccoon River.
We trucked ourselves into town, tightly scrunching the seven of us in Justin’s rented Ford Explorer (a very tight fit) and hit pothole and washboard-galore on our way into town, all the while me with a full bladder. We reached the town in short order and descended our gayness upon the town store to stock up on our few forgotten items. We purchased butter for our unbuttered hashbrowns, vegetables and popcorn that we never used, we took a moment to enjoy the vast array of feminine hygiene product, and purchased a few other items to which I can’t presently recall.
Back to the cabin (with bladder still full) we offloaded our purchases and sat around while we waiting for our time to leave yet again to meet our 2:30 canoeing appointment. Mark and I took a stroll through the woods and enjoyed the splendor of nature while the others left at camp laughed and let loose.
We again packed ourselves in and rode back through town to the main Whiterock Conservancy location and met up with our canoeing liaison who made us sign our rights away while warning us of the many treacherous conditions we might encounter while canoeing down the river. A short trip through town brought us to the drop off point and we set oar to the river dotted with trees, rocks, rapids and an occasional washing machine.
Poor Aunt Joe was a little white-knuckled himself due to a fear of boats, but held up well and with a humor and a whit that kept us all entertained. We laughed and frolicked while Jason and Justin made jokes about TV show love children, while Mark and I tried to keep ourselves going in the right direction, while Mark N. and Ron did their best to keep out of the trees.
The three hour jaunt down the river passed quickly, towards the end we saw the 805 River Cabin mailbox proudly holding its place on the cliff waiting for a wayward mailman to bring home some news from a far off land. I was half tempted to jump off and walk up to our cabin to start dinner, but didn’t want to leave Mark alone to man our stubborn canoe.
Having beat the odds with none of us tipping, we landed safely where we started, and after a quick shower found ourselves packed back into the truck and made our way back to the cabin.
I immediately set in to making dinner - stewing up bones and broth and carrots and such, interspersed with a sip of my Minhas and keeping up conversation with the rest of the guys. I finally settled the beef cheeks in their broth upon the fire to work its magic and set in to do some fishing with Mark N while the others continued chatting by the fire. Quilting and boyfriends and politics were spoken - some laughter and jest, some bit tongues at their best. Brand-new friends just yesterday made way for lifelong friends this day and nothing was off-topic or hushed from our lips.
While conversations kept lively I caught a couple of fish, to which Mark N. quickly set free from my hook and released back into their home so they could swim another day. The final fish of three was a bit much for me, the fishing pole and Mark N., and after breaking the pole, defecating on Mark N. and giving my Mark an utter case of the giggles, we finally were able to set him free of the hook and put him back into his home.
A few beers and many pop-tarts later, dinner was mostly ready - eat least ready enough that we were willing to eat it in its still somewhat tough condition. The flavor was great but could have easily cooked for another 2-3 hours and been perfection. At that point, though, we really didn’t care and devoured the bulk of it in short order.
As best we tried to stay awake we dropped like flies one-by-one after dinner and each made our way to our respective sleeping abodes for one of the most restful and peaceful nights sleep I can recall having in ages.
I awoke to what remained of a misty morning, the fog was just finishing rolling back into hiding while the sun began pounding away at our still-tired eyes. Coffee, of course, brought us back to reality and breakfast with now buttered hashbrowns and bacon and eggs. Bellies full we chatted and chatted and chatted some more, all equally uninspired by doing much more than sitting by and keeping company with friends.
Not long after breakfast I felt the urge for a snack and made quick to make the cupcakes to which I had named the trip. I fired up the over and made the batter, only to see the pan I had quickly selected in my rush to pack in fact did NOT fit the oven in even the slightest regard. Aunt Joe, the mother of invention and make-do encouraged the use of foil as a makeshift door, which ended up working splendidly as I only burnt two cupcakes, undercooked one and managed to squeeze our 8 more decently shaped and completely edible morsels of yumminess. Slathered with butter-cream frosting and sprinkled with the token rainbow sprinkles, our early afternoon snack was ready and was the beginning of the end of our much-too-short trip.
The encroaching chore of packing it up and saying goodbye soon became too much to ignore, we conceded and got our belongings together rather quickly given the heat of the day. Trip after bumpy trip we all made it up the hill and had one final moment to enjoy the view from up high on the hill. We took a few pictures, gave many hugs and said goodbye to friends, old and new. “Until next time,” we said, before we drove our respective ways home.
The next time is near, yet so very far away. I miss my friends, the freedom of nature and feeling of being perfectly at peace. I carry of sense of it with me as I walk through my now back-to-normal days and look at my life a little bit differently now - knowing that friends, nature and a sense of belonging wait for me back there, at that little cabin in the woods.
