WHERE IT ALL BEGAN

In 1974, my husband’s aunt and uncle purchased 10 acres of land—tucked quietly among the trees, with a river winding gently through it. There, they built the most charming A-frame cabin — a simple structure that became the heart of generations of memories. And over time, that little cabin became so much more than a structure. It became the heart of our family. 

Over the next 50 years, it wasn’t just a getaway. It was the place. The kind of place where family gathered without needing a reason, where weekends felt sacred, and where the worries of everyday life seemed to melt away with the mountain air.

We grilled under the sun. We played cards late into the night. Volleyball tournaments broke out on the lawn, laughter echoing through the trees. We floated down the river, fished from its banks, and stood cheering on epic games of horseshoes. Sometimes we came just to relax. Other weekends we worked together to improve the land, always with a shared goal of keeping this place beautiful. We always left feeling more connected—to each other, and to the place itself.

Mornings were sacred in their own way. We’d sit on the deck with our cups of coffee or hot cocoa, solving all the world’s problems—one sip and one conversation at a time. It was peaceful, grounding, and often the birthplace of the kind of heart-to-heart talks you don’t forget.

Some of my most cherished memories happened around the firepit. We’d sit in a circle, young and old, swapping stories and laughing so hard our cheeks ached and tears streamed down our faces. I can still hear the friendly teasing during horseshoe games, the old-timers showing the kids how it’s really done—with flair and a few playful jabs.

Then there were the card games—especially “May I.” I always found myself seated between Uncle Keith and my father-in-law, Tony. Those evenings were pure joy, filled with good-natured trash talk like, “Why you little…” and “I’m gonna beat you!”—usually thanks to the terrible cards I’d play. Both Uncle Keith and Tony have since passed, which makes those memories even more precious now. I can still feel their presence when I think back on those games, those laughs, and those moments.

This cabin, this land, this place—it’s not just part of our family’s history. It’s part of our soul. And as we continue to gather, play, work, and remember, we carry forward the legacy that began with a simple cabin in the woods and a dream that grew with every story shared around its fire.