I'm still here

I've just been neglecting my little blog. The fall has proven to be very, very busy and I don't think things are going to calm down until Christmas. I'm not going to complain, though, because I still have a job to take up all my time and some people don't even have that.

I haven't quite finished writing about my Ontario trip. I got to spend about 12 days at my cabin. The first part of it was with the Core Four and the second part with my BFF, and the third part with my parents and their giant of a puppy, Barkley The Forlorn.

Sad, giant puppy

There was a big change at my cabin this year that I'd been told about but hadn't mentally prepared myself for. My great-aunt Ginny bought a little hunting cabin on an island during WWII. We call that island Ginny's Island. My great-grandfather Mungo loved the area so much that he bought the land across the lake from Ginny's Island and built the cabin that I call mine atop a hill.

"My" cabin

Ginny's cabin is an iconic image from my childhood. More so than my own cabin, since most of my time was spent on the bridge that connects the island to the land. I would spend entire days on the bridge, and Ginny's cabin was the scenery and setting for those days. The cabin itself was small, some might even say tiny. But I thought it was perfect.

Bridge to Ginny's Island

Ginny's cabin

 

For a number of reasons, the cabin fell into disrepair and had to be torn down. I wasn't there for that. The last time I was there it was still standing. But since then, they took it down (with a controlled burn, apparently) and they started building the new cabin. It has the same footprint as Ginny's (legally, it has to), but not the same layout and it looks very different and wrong to me. The first sight I got of it broke my heart. I grew more accustomed to it as I saw it more, but there was still a part of me that was suprised each time I saw it.

The new cabin on the island

 I suspect this is just the start of the slow death of my childhood.