![]() In the center, a gnarled and knot-holed log reached to the roof peak. The gazebo’s roof was thick with lichen and moss, and the rough plank floor was littered with squirrel-hollowed nutshells and clam shells left by raccoons. To a 10-year-old, it all seemed to have grown from the woods the way a mushroom pushes up from the forest floor, gleaming white under a cap of pine needles and loam–distinct, yet still a part of it. Out front, the hill dropped off sharply and a narrow stairway zigzagged down to a lakeside gazebo that held a clutter of chairs, settees and tables.Īll of it–cabins, stairs, railings, gazebo and furniture–was fashioned from whole and split logs, rough-hewn planks and saplings–some bare, some with bark, some straight, others featuring crooks and twists, burls, snags and gnarls. and happy hour.Īs I got older, I’d walk the shore path north to where it disappeared into the quiet and cool of the evergreen woods, narrowed to a pine-needled rut of an Indian trail, and wound up a steep hill, carrying a pilgrim a century and more back in time.Īt the top of the hill–half-hidden in a hemlock grove–was a collection of little-used hunting cabins that dated from the lake’s earliest resort days. On warm, sunny days, the old place really hummed younger cousins splashed and shrieked in the shallows, older ones buzzed around in the boats, aunts chased toddlers, and uncles fidgeted ’til 4:00 P.M. My almost life-long devotion to making rustic furniture had its roots in boyhood, when I was fortunate enough to spend grade school summer vacations at my grandparents’ turn-of-the-century cottage on the shore of a north country lake. Home Organization News, Blog, & Articles.Energy Efficiency News, Blog, & Articles. ![]()
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