Today as we emptied out a small cabin we have only had for a few years, I am reminded how attached to our real estate we can become. This little cabin on a small lake in Illinois has embedded itself into my heart. A tiny one room shack on brick pillars with weeds growing through the painted blue floor, with it's tiny crooked bathroom, and it's non existent kitchen brings a smile to my face. Oh, the history of one small place! 420 square feet of memories not only for me and my family, but for everyone out at the Whippoorwill Club. Everyone knows who has lived there, who replaced what door, built the deck, added the curtains, upgraded the sink, made the walk, planted the hostas.....and we added our mark onto it's walls as well. In a few short weeks, that history will be a memory of pictures as a new cabin will take it's place. Only the ground will be sacred. I'm a little sad at that. As Dave was moving the fridge through the kitchen door, that used to be the main door because the kitchen area used to be the front porch, long, long ago, the folding door broke off. I cried! He just looked at me. How do you describe the attachment to a small place that held many a sleepless night with five people nestled in one room, practically on top of one another? He asked if we should stop the building of a new place. As tears ran down my face, I looked around. No, it's time to make new memories in a new building. To make our mark on the WWC visible. To have a place where my family can be comfortable. The walls we are in may never hear my family's laughter again, but the night air will. That building may never safely keep the critters out while we sit together, but the land will hold up another place that will. And although that small, wonderful cabin will only live on in our memories and in pictures, they will not be forgotten. Ever.
