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Just give me a cabin

I don’t care for the fine mansions on earth’s sinkin’ sand

Lord build me a cabin in the corner of gloryland

Build Me a Cabin in Gloryland is one of the finest bluegrass songs I know. And a cabin here on earth’s sinking sand is alright by me.

Even as a child, I had a deep attraction for cabins. I loved the cabin way of life and often imagined myself as a pioneer. There was just something fascinating about those who lived in cabins and off the land. The only drawback to cabin life was the outhouse. My dream home would be a cabin with a flushing toilet.

After high school, I spent my summers working out West and, when given the choice, I chose a cabin over other lodgings. Even to this day, if I had the opportunity, I would be perched up in a cabin somewhere in the hinterlands of the USA.

For years, I heard Alice Bowden talk about going to the Henderson Lodge up above Troy. She told about the kindness and generosity of Fox Henderson Jr. and about the huge log lodge he had and the icy cold swimming pool and all the animals.

The Henderson Lodge was just the place for me. So, when I had the opportunity to go to the Henderson Lodge to write a story, I jumped at the chance. It was an amazing place. So, amazing that I wanted to go back. I did go back. Unannounced and with my young nephew in tow.

We climbed a fence and made our way across the grounds. I wanted to sit on the porch swing and just enjoy the beauty of that amazing place. I told my nephew the stories about the Henderson Lodge and how, years ago, it was the Six Flags of Pike County.

When it was time to leave, I paused to take a picture but, barking in the near distance caused me to “shutter.”

“Dogs! Aunt Jaine! Dogs!

“Run! Run!” were the only words of wisdom I could muster.

But I didn’t have to yell “Run! my nephew was already in the car with the windows up, the doors locked and the radio on.

I couldn’t see the dogs but just the sound of them gave me wings. I ran in graceful slow motion, in perfectly animated gracefulness. I eclipsed the fence and grasped the door handle. The barking dogs yapped at the fence. My nephew’s smiling face was plastered on the window.

I slid under the wheel with my heart still thumping like a tom-tom.

“This was fun! Can we do this again?” my nephew asked.

I wanted to say, “When hell freezes over” but I opted for “When the cows home.”

“Fun!” he said. “Fun!”