An Unusual Year for Weather
In February, we would not usually consider a trip to
Fernhaven, being frozen in the typical mid winter temps, of minus 20 C or lower.
Yet, home in Alberta this year, we have half the usual snow and temperatures
hovering around zero. BC has a similar situation. Promising for an early trip,
but not favorable for the summer ahead. Without the snow pack up high in the
mountains melting, feeding the rivers and streams, the water table may remain
low. The two-year drought raised worries about well water and the risk of
future forest fires.
Planning
It filled my heart with joy to plan our first trip of the year to Fernhaven, a full month earlier than last year. Returning after three months, I wanted to check the place for any damage. The weather forecast was for rain and a few degrees above freezing. This would be a brief trip to check on the trailer, cabin, and pumphouse.
We would leave as it got light on Friday and return home on Monday, giving us two full days between driving days. In the best conditions, it was a 6-7 hour drive. In winter, unpredictable weather could make it longer. We loaded the truck with the trailer battery, water, sleeping bags, a floor lamp, and a porcelain toilet. The toilet, acquired from a job site, would be for the bathroom installation later this year.
I was awake well before the alarm on Friday morning, eager to be off. I slid out of bed and padded around in the dark to find my clothes, not wanting to disturb Dave. Downstairs, I busied myself with making drinks, packing the freezer items into the cooler, my computer and last-minute items.
I tapped my lip, wondering if I had thought of everything. Was it worth taking the lamp? The cabin had an installed electrical panel but lacked the necessary connector to go live. It had been an anticlimax to work so hard digging trenches installing the heavy thick cable, connecting the panel only to not have the tiny piece to switch on power. Our electrician had promised to finish it off, but we hadn’t heard if he had completed it. I looked at my watch, knowing the alarm would get Dave up soon. This was much better than our usual departures, with me complaining at Dave to hurry and getting frustrated when he didn’t pack everything the way I wanted. Today, everything was ready. He could just jump in the truck, and we’d be off.
Ready, Set, Go
At last, the horizon beckoned, pink candy floss clouds brightening with the dawn. Perfect timing to watch the sun come up turning the mountain tops orange as we headed west up the Bow Valley. We were escaping. After a couple of hours, the clouds thickened, and the expected rain spotted the windshield. I didn’t think we would see much of Rogers Pass today. Soon dirty spray was coating our vehicle with every passing heavy goods vehicle. Grey clouds covered the mountains. It could have seemed depressing, but felt alive to me. Instead of white snow and an icy frozen landscape, water was running, spray was billowing, and misty clouds clung to the trees. Everything was flowing, vibrant with lively energy in the air. Small freshets gushed, cascading from rock faces splashing on both sides of the road. Lime green moss patches and lichens dressed the boulders in spring like colours.
We're Here!
I relaxed as Dave turned into our driveway, my eyes eagerly picking out every tree, every detail, as we bumped along the track. There was the outhouse, there was the workshop, the cabin was still standing. There was a thin covering of snow, with brown patches of earth showing here and there, no issues getting up the drive this year.
Blake was at our neighbour’s property plowing their driveway, last week and we gladly accepted his offer to plow ours, too. Memories of last March’s attempt getting into Fernhaven and being buried up to the axles in snow, was fresh in my mind. The truck got pulled out by our neighbour’s excavator.
The air was moist, the sound of trees dripping everywhere. So different from Alberta. The inside of the metal workshop was also dripping in condensation, so much so even the trailer was as wet as if it had been outside in the rain. Inside was dry, but felt damp. Once we got the heating going, it would warm up quickly. I was eager to check our other buildings before we could relax. Dave waded through the deeper snow to turn on the pumphouse heater. We were cautious about switching on the pumps until we defrosted them.
The Cabin
I headed to the cabin to see how it had fared through the
winter. But my curiosity would have to wait. There was a deep mound of snow
stretching the full length of the building. Our steeply pitched metal roof had
done its job, shedding snow in one big slough, the ripples showing how it had
flopped off the roof in waves. After digging a pathway through, I unlocked the
door and slowly peeked inside. It was cool, but dry, the wood construction
comforting and protecting, even with no insulation. My eyes swept across the floor,
looking for wet patches, peering up at the new chimney. No sign of water!
Great, no sign of critters, or damage of any sort.
Warm & Cozy
After scanning the space, I settled on the wood stove. Now
that’s what we need to do, get the fire going. Dave had read my mind and was
already loading the cart with dry wood from our stash, tarped and dry. While
stacking a pile of logs with flaking bark and sawdust inside the door, I
mentally noted that we would need a better place to store wood once we had the
place finished. There was no way I wanted that mess on our nice floors. Dave
scrunched paper, carefully arranged kindling on top and used the portable
propane blower to light it up. In no time, the bright flames were lighting up
the kindling, popping and crackling. There is no better sound. I stepped out
the door, loving the sight of smoke curling out the chimney hanging in the damp,
dusky air.
I dragged over our wicker loveseat to perch on while nursing
the fire. It was still a novelty and fun playing with the damper. I discovered
leaving the door ajar helped get a good draft to help get the fire going well. The
faint smell of wood smoke tickling my nose as it puffed out the open door. Our
black heat activated fan on top was soon whirring away as the stove heated. The
red orange flames engulfing the logs. It was mesmerizing. This was it, what I
had been looking forward to the most: a warm, cozy cabin, comfy couch, dry and
warm, with our feet up on the ottoman, toes toasty close to the fire. Even with
no insulation, the cabin was noticeably warmer than it had been when we
arrived.
Do we Have Light?
But wait, what about the power? In my rush to get it warm in here, I’d totally forgotten about checking the electricity. Grabbing the floor lamp we’d hauled from home, I plugged in the cable. I tugged open the electrical panel. Was the main breaker on or off? I wasn’t sure which direction was which. I flicked it over, assuming it had been off. I tried the lamp, nothing. Oh well, not surprising. It wasn’t such a big deal; we had a battery powered lamp. I switched the breaker off and jumped, dropping the panel door on my finger. The lamp suddenly brightened up the entire room. We had light! What I’d thought was on was off.
And Relax....
What a transformation. Standing there looking up at the vaulted ceiling, partially insulated and covered in plastic, hearing the logs shift in the stove, feeling the warmth radiating outwards, was the most rewarding feeling I have ever experienced in my whole life. It was a long way from being finished, but even if we didn’t complete one more thing, I would be happy with this. I had built this, not just hired people to build it, but actually moved every piece of wood, dug every foundation hole, pounded in every nail, poked every chimney piece through the roof, with my own two hands. My essence was in every part of the cabin, my determination, hard work, and tenacity. What was it that had driven me? The desire to achieve something I did not imagine I could. The knowledge that I am so much more capable than I know. That we all are so much more capable, if we just give ourselves the chance to prove it. If you can dream it, then why not do it?
