There is an unfinished cabin in my distant memory – a dream begun in my pre-pubescent years but left undone.
It was a summer day in the small town of Readfield, Maine. The humid warmth of the New England country air mixed with the inviting scent of the pine forest behind my grandmother’s house was too much for my cousins, my older brother and me to resist. Adventure lay ahead of us just across the trickling creek and under the canopy of the soaring trees. Running through the shaded pinewoods was not only a delight to smell; it was also a cushioned run over the thick carpet of pine needles covering the forest floor. “I could live here forever!” I thought.
Imagination began to take tangible form as we decided to build a small log cabin. Short on tools but high on interest, we began a search for small trees to chop down and drag to the site. With axe in hand and a determined spirit, the effort began. But, alas, a short summer day is just not enough time to satisfy the desires and demands of a summer dream.
Many summers have come and gone since then. Wrinkles encroach upon my once youthful face even as hair follicles prove to be fair-weather friends on the top of my head. But I remember. The dream hasn’t died, though the logs that were laid so many years ago have no doubt since disappeared from the forest floor.
There is a sense of unrealized dreams that perhaps lay deep within us all. Some are unfinished dreams of a distant memory. Others are hopes for a better time somewhere on the road before us. I don’t know if I’ll ever get my pine-forest-nestled cabin in this lifetime; however, perhaps someday, in that eternal day of global renewal, perhaps there will still be a Maine forest. If so, maybe I’ll have time to build my cabin then. Meanwhile, if you see me with my feet propped up and a dreamy look in my eyes I might be remembering.