This past weekend my husband and I made a trip to the family cabin: our favorite place to go when we need a break from the world. It's nestled in the woods near the Spanish Peaks in Southern Colorado, just up the hill from the Spanish Peaks Scout Ranch. Spring, summer, and fall trips are always busy and full of the sounds of scouts, visitors to neighboring cabins, and the birdsongs that fill woods. In winter, however, everything is silent.
In winter the heavy mountain snows make driving to the door impossible, so any supplies have to be snow-shoed to the cabin via toboggan. While it's not always a fun trip up the hill—there really is nothing like being halfway to the cabin and seeing fresh mountain lion tracks in the snow—my husband and I tough it out at least once a winter. We plan ahead and pack light, knowing that the journey will be worth it when we're relaxing by the wood stove.
It might sound a bit strange, but while most of the year I eschew technology at the cabin—no cell phone, no laptop, and especially no television—in winter I make two notable exceptions. Rather than lug my usual library of novels up the mountain, I bring my tiny eReader, which at less than a pound holds the complete works of Neil Gaiman, my favorite author for the cabin.
by an open fire on a cold
winter's night.
I also pack my laptop which holds within it a weaving library. As I sit by the window after breakfast in the morning, or by the fire in the evening, I like to sketch out ideas for new weaving adventures as I peruse the projects in my eBooks. As the scenery and experiences of the cabin inspire me, I scroll through the projects to find the perfect one to match my dream.
This past weekend as I sat by the fire drinking my tea I felt inspired to weave thick mug rugs to replace the raggedy cardboard coasters stashed throughout the cabin. I immediately started looking through Weaving With Rags and found plenty of projects on which I could project my ideas. I settled on miniaturized versions of Jean Scorgie’s Cotton Rag Rug in warm reds and oranges to bring back the memories of a warm fire on a cold winter's night.
The next morning, as I looked out at the forest all covered in snow, I felt the inspiration hit me again. I imagined how Anja Höykinpuro’s Rustic Runner would look on the kitchen table when woven in the hunter green and whites of the Spanish Peaks in winter.
Now that I’m back home, it’s time take my ideas and turn them into realities. Using my cabin notes, I’ll buy yarns and warp the loom, and, at least for awhile, with each pass of the shuttle I’ll be transported back to that little cabin in the woods.
