Still Little. Still in the Woods.

The cabin is now 5 courses high, which makes it above the waist when you stand next to it.  There has been no change there for the last few weeks, after the initial flurry of activity early in September.

Part of the reason was the flurry, I'm sure.  My old joints required days of sauna baths and backing off of the lifting to recuperate.  Cabin building is not a senior-friendly activity.

The other effect was a waning interest on the part of my Junior Lumberjack helper.  Maybe it was the realization that there would be no electricity or cable TV.  And there is both in the house, plus heat and a refrigerator full of food.  Maybe it was getting the wheels - a V6 Pontiac GrandAm with a stereo and bucket seats.  "The Call of the Road" vs. "The Call of the Wild"...?

Made me think of the old verse:

"For which of you, intending to build a tower (or a log cabin), sitteth not down first, and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it?"

And then Robert Frost's poem:

"One could do worse than be a swinger of birches."  (or a builder of cabins)

So was I once myself a swinger of birches;
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood

So the "Little Cabin In The Woods" is still little.  Still in the woods.  Very still.

It will call me back when it's time to build again.

(not the "Little Cabin")