Mountain People

We are city folk, used to the fast pace, instant gratification that city life so abundantly provides. Yesterday, we decided to leave our fast-paced city life behind to drive up north to the high country and relax for the long weekend.  We’ve been heading north for a while, as my parents have owned a cabin in the mountains for almost 15 years. About two years ago, we thought it a good idea to get a cabin of our own, near my parents', where we can escape the rush and rumble of the city.

We enjoy coming up for weekends here and there throughout the year.  It’s only an hour and a half from home, so it’s convenient and easy to get to. We enjoy the tall pines, the cooler weather, the fresh air and the change of pace that the small mountain communities provide. Everything is slow. There is almost no such thing as time. It’s a world void of urban urgency. Hours of operation for most businesses are subject to change on a whim.  Yea, I know the sign says we unlock the doors at 10, but we didn’t feel like getin in to open at 10 today. The breeze on the porch was so nice we decided to sit a while longer. Now what can I do fer ya?  I am in no way trying to put down these differences, merely pointing them out.  

We’ve attempted to adopt the wilderness way of life when we come up. We stay in our jammies longer, don’t always comb our hair, try not to notice the clock and we wear clothes that don’t match and don’t fit. It’s like camping, indoors. There have been times I have looked around at our crew and marveled at our complete lack of fashion when we are in the mountains. My husband has an old shirt he has loved for years. I suggested he not wear it to work anymore as it had a big hole in the elbow area, so he thought he’d bring it up and make it a “cabin shirt”. This worked for a while, until the hole grew and he just ripped off the bottom portion of the sleeve altogether. We were at lunch, sitting outside with friends at the time. After successfully ripping off the first sleeve, he decided he better then rip off the other sleeve so they, at least, would match. This was probably the defining moment for the family - the act that solidified our status. When dad can rip off his sleeves in a public place while dining with friends, it must be so. We are no longer city people. We are mountain people.

So, yesterday, we made it to our cabin. We always stop at the bottom of the driveway and look up at the cabin, surprised it’s still there. It’s an odd thing, but truly, it’s the same feeling every time. Our arrival ritual is always the same as we drag our things up the stairs and into the cabin where we look around and check things out. This time, something was wrong. A large, heavy framed mirror had fallen from the wall at the top of the stairs and actually gone completely through a glass window. There was glass everywhere and the mirror sat half in and half out of the cabin, resting on the upstairs porch.

My husband pushed to the front of the boisterous crowd of little people, the youngest yelling almost in a chant, “Mirror down, mirror down, emergency. Mirror down, mirror down, emergency.” We pulled the mirror inside and surveyed the damage. A 35”x48” pane was completely blown out.  I grabbed the phone book and began calling the glass companies in town. Here is where city folk and mountain people differ.  No ma’am, we don’t got no one who can come out till Tuesday or Wednesday. No, there ain’t no such thing as emergency service. You can call Jim, on Main Street. He’s hunting up your way. Maybe he could throw a sheet of glass on his truck and cut it fer ya while he’s up there.

With that, we did what all good mountain people do. We went outside with a small plastic tarp and some all-weather duct tape and we fixed it ourselves. We’ll get to it later.