The Cabin (On a Lake)
When I was nine years old, my parents decided they needed an escape from the hustle and bustle of Anchorage—which, at the time, had a population of around 100,000.
Cabin Life—No Frills, All Magic
There was no running water and no electricity. The cabin was heated by a wood-burning stove and lit with Coleman lanterns. Eventually, a propane tank was added so we could use a proper indoor cooking stove.
The outhouse—which felt like a mile away, especially on cold or dark mornings—was… let’s just say “utilitarian.”
The cabin itself was basic: a large main room with a few half-hearted partitions pretending to be bedrooms, and a sleeping loft packed with big mattresses but no actual beds.
This was one time I was very glad to be a girl—I got one of the three beds downstairs and didn’t have to “rough it” up in the loft with the boys.
I loved it. Loved the simplicity. Loved the stillness. Spending weekends there felt like heaven.
The Church of the Cabin
As an adult, when people asked me about my religious background, I’d half-jokingly say:
“I was raised in the Church of the Cabin on the Lake.”
Because once the cabin was built, we stopped going to church.
The woods and the lake became my sanctuary. That was my sacred space.
Basic cabin – four walls and a roof
The cabin in the morning sun
Trout fishing
I’d bet it was in the 60s here. I still remember the first time Anchorage hit 82—I could barely move.
Fishing with my brother
Winter – cabin had no insulation – many times it would be colder inside than out
Loved going up there in the winter
Spring is coming
Springtime – temp is probably all of 50 degrees
Breaking up the ice – rite of spring
Lilly pads at southern end of lake
The trick was to float on the surface. Touch the bottom, and the leeches would find you—inner tubes were the safe bet.
On the road leading down to the path to our cabin
Alaska RR — you didn’t need a station; back then you could just flag the train down to ride.
Ruthie and me
Our little Sunfish—fiberglassed the hull with my brother, and it could fly.
Ruthie and me – March 1975
Ruthie & John
Dad – June 1976
