Personal Narrative: A View By The Cabin

A View By The Cabin Our summer vacation cabin had wooden front steps and two narrow glass doors that opened inward. The living room was large and contained a small television that sat on a glass stand. In front of the television was a couch and lounge chair that didn’t match. They smelled of old perfume and dust. Pictures of seagulls and lighthouses hung firmly against the walls. Credenzas were filled with decretive plates, and trinkets. Large windows filled the sunroom, and kitchen with spectacular views, as well as the bedroom. As I explored the property, I gazed through the windows of the garage. It appeared to be under construction for some sort of room conversion. Carpet had been laid, and a water heater was installed. Nestled along
the hillside, the cabin was surrounded by lush green gardens, and mature trees, covered in fuzzy black bumblebees. A freshly painted wooden deck wrapped half way around the cabin, and on it, sat a large hot tub tub that overlooked the ocean. If you peered out over the deck towards the ocean, you would see a large rock formation in the shape of a Whale’s head. In front of the rock, lay piles of driftwood, washed down from the river that flowed beneath the highway. The beach was dark and ashy from campfires, which made the sun bleached driftwood and seashells come to life. Thick fog rolled in patches as the sun burned through it. Orange and purple starfish washed to shore. Colorful polished stones funneled out from a creek, and fresh water flowed sideways through the sand. People played with their dogs, children built sand castles, while others took pictures. Next to the beach was a hike trail; lined with unripe raspberries, ferns, and the most beautiful purple wild flowers I’d ever seen. At the end of the trail stood three large diameter drainage tunnels, big enough to walk through without stooping. These tunnels were mostly used as a short cut to the beach, instead of crossing the busy highway. But tunnel use was only accessible during the summer months, when water wasn’t raging through them. Each tunnel was so dark in fact; a flashlight could hardly light the way. Sound echoed from every direction as vehicles passed from above. There was a light at the end of the tunnel that appeared to be the size of a quarter. I felt as if I was an immigrant crossing into an unknown land, as the cold water splashed beneath my feet, and steam came out from my breath. On the other side of the tunnel rested an old moss covered shack. The rain gutters had filled completely with dirt, and small pine trees began to grow out of them. At first I though it might have been a restroom, but the pad locks on it suggested otherwise. We made our way to the Resort’s restaurant and waited for a table. A stuffed mountain loin guarded the entrance. Elk and deer heads where mounted to every wall, and pictures of hunting trips rested in their frames above the fireplace on the mantel. After we were seated, I was served the best Denver Omelet I’ve ever had. Leaving full and content, we were ready to relax in the hot tub and admire the view.