There was a small pond just around the backside of a little compound where I stayed a few times. The compound was a circular lot with A-frame cottages that pre-date the year I was born. Perhaps the place predated my birth by at least a decade or possibly more. The old cottages were quaint and small with the original decorations. I suppose the years and age had changed the place.
The resort was built to accept the run-offs and overflows of people looking for an alternative to hotels and the Pocono ski resorts. The amenities were antiquated at best but the fireplace was good. The cottages were nowhere near the five-star experience but the atmosphere was warm and kind.
I remember a morning here. The skiing season had passed and the spring months were moving closer to summer. The air was warm and the trees returned to green. The sunrise was pastoral and quiet, like something out of a storybook.
At the early hours of dawn, the sky took on the shades of orange and purple. The varying colors filtered through the scattered clouds and for the moment, everything was simplified. All was calm and suddenly, the old stove and the old fixtures in the A-frame cottages made sense to me.
The little pond was up the path behind the compound. Lily Pads and marsh were at the corner of the waterfront with a small dock in place. I stood there with a little fishing rod and flipped the bail to cast my lure a few times. There was nothing big in the pond. The bass were there and easy to catch. There were schools of sunfish gathering in the shallows and then darting out to the deeper section whenever something would move or spook them.
Overhead, long-winged birds circled the sky without moving their wings. The birds never flapped once. Instead, they soared and glided in large circles as if they owned the place.
Sometimes, life is best lived when all is quiet. Sometimes we need to find somewhere to get away from the noise and static of life as we know it.
We have to find a way to stop the constant back and forth or the to and from trips that take us to places we’d rather not go.
Sometimes, we need a place to hit the pause button and allow the technology to rest. For me, the cottages at Rimrock was a good place to let this happen.
There was a German family staying at one of the cottages nearby. They stopped over and introduced themselves to me. They were picking mushrooms from the ground and planned on cooking them with dinner. I declined their invite to try them with good reason. I’m sure they cooked the mushrooms fine but unsettling of my stomach was not part of my plan to relax.
There was a prose I read by one of my favorite authors, in which he described a small little cabin in the woods. This is where he would write his thoughts. He would disconnect from the everyday madness and sit in his cabin and light a fire in the fireplace. He’d drink some bourbon, I suppose, which I could skip if I had my way. Then he typed away at his typewriter to create another best seller.
I like this idea.
I like the idea of getting away from the hustle. I like the idea of finding a place away from everything and everyone. No need for the modernization of technology. I’d just need a place to stay warm and dry.
I’d need a fireplace too. I’d need some electricity though and a place to plug into. I would only need the essentials like a fridge, some running water, plumbing too of course. I’d like to rough it but not so rough that I’d have to dig a hole or use an outhouse.
I’d like to find a place in the woods that comes with a little path and takes me to a small pond. I could cast my line and fish for a while. I could enjoy the silence and feel the wind on my face and the sun on my shoulders. In the wintertime, I could have the fireplace going. The snow could pile high and that would be fine with me. I’d be inside, warm, and with a cup of coffee and some notes to plan my first best seller.
Have you ever been in the mountains and smelled the sweetness of dew in the morning? You can smell the dirt and the trees. You can hear the sound of birds and sometimes, you hear the loud cries from the red-tail hawks that circle the sky.
The deer run by like the beautiful animals they are. And they would understand that although I am a meat eater, I’m not a hunter. So they would be safe on my land.
This place would be my place to disconnect from everything. I could breathe here – even if my breathing is only in fiction, this would be the place where I could exhale and say, “Ah!”
I am a firm believer in the importance of visualization. In order to build my dreams, I need to have a vision. I need to know what my dreams look like to understand what I aspire to have. Put simply, I have to see it before I can achieve it.
I want to see it.
I want to have it but more importantly, I want to live it.
Meanwhile, there was another famous writer that cashed in and moved down to where the ocean is the color of turquoise. He bought himself a small island and staffed the house with people to care for his needs. He’d wake up to have breakfast and some fresh fruit. Then he’d fish for a while. Then he had some lunch, followed by a massage. Then he would write for a while, then fish again, have dinner, and another massage before calling it a night. Not bad, right?
Although I love my dream in the mountains, somehow, I’m sure I could get comfortable with island living too.
Either way, a dream is a dream.
Six of one, half-dozen of the other.