“Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink,
taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.”
— Henry David Thoreau
Recently, I had the good fortune of staying in a beautiful log cabin in the middle of the woods — a tiny home filled with big magic.
When José and I were planning our trip to the U.S. over the holidays, we knew only two things for certain: that we would be there for two weeks, and that one of those weeks would be spent with my family in Virginia.
The second week was much more of a mystery. What would it hold? Where would we go? We contemplated a myriad of options — San Francisco, to reconnect with my friends there; Iceland, for a brief return to our beloved Scandinavia. Ultimately, we decided that adding even more air travel to our already-long flight back to Uruguay was probably not the best idea, and so we narrowed our search to what lay within driving distance from Virginia.
And it was then that José and I committed ourselves to a sacred mission:
Let’s find a cabin.
I suppose it’s not an accident that two people who were independently drawn to a remote set of islands in the far north of Norway should also share a passion for cabins. Some of José’s favorite Instagram accounts are Cabin Love and a professional cabin builder named Jacob Witzling; I myself nearly bought a cabin on a tiny island in the Pacific Northwest, a year before José and I met.
It isn’t just the cozy quality and small size that we love about them; I think it’s everything intangible a cabin represents, too — the connection to nature, the sense of solitude, the greater simplicity’s of one’s daily rhythms, and the deeper space for contemplation and creativity a cabin affords you.
But, like Goldilocks, it took a while before we found the cabin that felt ‘just right.’ Some seemed as comfortable and modern as a regular house; others were a little more rustic than we’d imagined (“You have to be okay using an outhouse,” read this cabin’s especially memorable description, “and you’ll need to bring your own water…”). Was there a happy medium out there?
And then suddenly, there it was — José came home from work one night, suggested we look in North Carolina (just below my home state of Virginia), and the very first listing that came up for us on AirBnb was for a 200-year-old log cabin outside Asheville, that had been moved six miles from its original location and was then lovingly restored by its current owner.
Within a matter of seconds, I knew we’d found the one.
There’s a bit of inherent danger in finding such a place though, isn’t there?
Because sometimes, it can feel like we’re just setting ourselves up for disappointment upon our arrival. I’ve certainly felt that disappointment many times before — showing up to a hotel or rental house and realizing the actual space isn’t quite as magical as the photos online promised it would be — and so I was even more grateful to arrive at our cabin in the Blue Ridge mountains of North Carolina and realize the magic was not only intact; it was even more charming than promised.
I loved how the cabin was set at the bottom of a hill, in a kind of protected gully — so even though there were two other houses nearby, as soon as you descended the sloping path, you lost sight of them and could easily imagine you were the only house around for miles. I also loved how the cabin’s owner had chosen to decorate the interior, using vintage furniture and objects that felt like relics from the time when the cabin was first constructed.
Most especially, I loved the light. There was no bright overhead lighting in the cabin — only a small number of table lamps and a single hanging bulb over the dining table. The cabin’s interior was thus fairly dark, even in the middle of the day — but this meant that what natural winter light did filter in through the windows, had a rather powerful effect on the setting:
It made the entire world feel like a Vermeer painting.
I could have sat at that desk forever — but we only had two nights in the cabin, and I planned to make the most of every hour. I wanted to read and journal and reflect. I wanted to look back on 2017 and set my intentions and focus word for 2018. By the time we left the cabin, I wanted to feel calm and collected — ready for the new year ahead of me.
But there was the issue of just how beautiful the cabin was, and as an artist, it’s very difficult to be in the presence of such beauty and not feel compelled to capture it.
And so my first thought was to try and create a series of small sketches, in between all of my intention-setting and reflecting. There were so many lovely details in the cabin — the silver bird ornament hanging from a beam in the kitchen; the sign above the bathroom door that read Simplify — and I had the idea to sketch a few of them and then weave them together in a hand-lettered blog post, like my essay about tea and home for Longreads last year.
José, however, had a different idea in mind. He took one sweeping look at the interior of the cabin — at the small wooden dining table illuminated by natural light; at the desk with its collection of colored bottles where I could happily sit and write and be for the rest of eternity — and he said:
“I think it’s time for another Stamsund sketch.”
He was referring to a particular sketch I created nearly two years ago, in the small fishing village of Stamsund on Norway’s Lofoten Islands. There was a hostel in the village, set right on the shores of a harbor and housed in an original 1934 fishermen’s building. And the moment you stepped inside the common room of the hostel, it felt as though nothing had been touched since 1934. The building was still heated by a wood-burning, cast-iron stove; the windows were still framed by cheery, checkered curtains; and in the adjacent room, a wooden spinning wheel still stood in the corner, as if awaiting a return to action at any moment.
I spent six weeks living in that hostel — it’s where José and I even fell in love at the end of my time in Norway — but after only a couple of weeks in Stamsund, I knew it was a special place. I devoted much of one weekend there to capturing the common room in a single, panoramic sketch. I temporarily let go of the idea that sketches are supposed to be our quick, imperfect impressions of a place, because for the common room, I wanted to draw every last detail, down to the row of socks drying beside the stove.
It felt like the only way to honor the sense of home I’d found there.
And so, as soon as José encouraged me to create a similar, all-encompassing panorama of our cabin, I knew he was right. Because as much as I loved all the small details — the silver bird, the Simplify sign — they alone were not responsible for the magic.
There wasn’t one thing or detail that made me feel instantly at home in the cabin; it was everything.
But I also knew that to commit myself to such a sketch would have a drastic impact on my original plans for our time there. I’d spent two days on my Stamsund sketch in Norway — taking several hours to draw the scene one afternoon, and several more to paint it the next day. The living room of our cabin was just as complex of a scene to draw, if not more so, and getting the perspective of the ceiling’s wooden beams right would be just as challenging.
In the end, I decided it was worth it — that perhaps my intentions for the new year could wait just a couple more days. In the end, I decided that there could be no better use of my time in the cabin — nor a better souvenir to take home with me. In the end, I made myself comfortable in a corner of the red leather couch, opened up my sketchbook, picked up my pencil, and got to work.
It’s quite amusing now to think back on my original vision for the cabin, especially my desire to leave it calm and collected — because as it happened, I left the cabin anything but.
I was even still painting when it was time for us to check out and the cleaning woman arrived. She kindly let me finish while she got started in the kitchen — and I did what I never do and voluntarily showed her my sketch, as a humble attempt of explaining our delay and showing her I wasn’t just holed up on the couch, finishing the last episode of Black Mirror on Netflix. Poor José was left with the task of carrying our backpacks and duffel bags to the car, hauling them back up the sloping path that suddenly felt much less charming and protective of the cabin and simply more pesky and steep.
At last, I left the cabin in a mad dash — far from the state of meditative calm that I’d envisioned — and in a way, it feels like I haven’t stopped dashing since. From the cabin, we drove seven hours to D.C. before catching a 15-hour flight back to Uruguay, where life has been bustling with all of the fun and excitement and socializing that the summer season should bustle with.
Even still, I often find myself longing for the wintry solitude and simple rhythms of the cabin:
All of this has meant that it hasn’t felt like an ordinary January — like the first month of the year and a time for new beginnings should feel. I’ve even yet to set my intentions for 2018, and I’m still not sure what my focus word will be.
As I wrote in my journal on Monday:
“It is already the 22nd of January, but it feels like the year is only beginning to get going for me — and all I can do is trust that this isn’t a bad way to start a new year…just different. I’ve launched no new challenges, and started no new journaling or sketching projects. In some ways, this season feels more like the end of something than a beginning — a time of tidying up and putting things in order…”
This tension has been very much on my mind lately — the tension between the things we think we should be doing at a particular time, and the other ideas that life seems to have in mind for us — so perhaps you can imagine my surprise when I began searching for a quote to accompany this post and stumbled across these timely, timeless words from Henry David Thoreau:
“Live in each season as it passes.”
Those seven simple words struck me the moment I read them — and the more I’ve thought about them, the more I feel they’re the biggest lesson I took away from our time in that cabin in the woods.
I’ve been so desperately trying to make this season a chapter of newness, reflection, and beginnings, because isn’t that what January is always meant to represent? But Thoreau and the cabin have been teaching me that sometimes, the seasons of our lives don’t always line up perfectly with the seasons on our calendar, and accepting this can require some effort and surrender.
Sometimes, I’m learning, it’s okay to not start something new and focus instead on refining what we’ve already begun — just like the cabin’s owner poured so much of her love and attention into restoring a house that already existed.
Sometimes, the only thing asked of us when we find ourselves in the presence of beauty and light and a place that feels like home, is that we take the time to capture and thereby honor it.
I’ll always remember our little log cabin in the mountains of North Carolina — the simple moments and magic it held — and hopefully, I’ll remember the lessons I learned there, too.
Satisfaction is not achieved by explaining how the world should be but in how it is.
What a succinct but stirring thought, Mike — thank you so much for sharing it with me on Friday!
As always Candace you make me want to follow you around and live your life… Who cares about newness, reflection, and beginnings when – through your lens and lovely expressions – oldness, presence, and conclusions are so very beautiful? thank you for this calming and inspiring essay…
Dearest Jenny, hello! It is beyond wonderful to hear from you here. You have been on my mind lately, and I would love to hear how you have been! I’ve just made a mental note to myself to email you very soon 🙂 Thank you so much for your encouragement and insights here — who cares, indeed! You truly helped reset my perspective last week with your wise words, so I can’t thank you enough. Sending the biggest hugs and love your way today! <3
“It is good to know that out there, in a forest in the world, there is a cabin where something is possible…”
―
Sylvain Tesson,
Dans les forêts de Sibérie
Being your mother gives me the great privilege of knowing you and the “essence” of you since the day you were born. This, my child, is you in your most happy of places. The world and all of its voices have tried to squeeze you into a nice, tidy box with a big, bright bow on top, but you are and always have been an intuitive, seeking child. I love seeing the world through your eyes because they are beautiful, caring, loving eyes. Full of light and love. From bending down to smell freshly bloomed tulips, as a curious preschooler, to trekking across Turkey to share stories rich in humanity, you make us all “see” the unseen. Thank you. Go easy on yourself in 2018…remember these two days. Let them be your Guide as the world clamors for your affections. As it bellows “shoulds” and “oughts” your way. You’ve taught me to “be here now” and now I call back and remind you to do the same. This is a remarkable piece and I am tucking it away as my own point of reference for 2018.
My dearest mom — as I texted you immediately after reading this on Friday, you pretty much stopped me in my tracks and brought tears to my eyes straightaway 🙂 Your wisdom and insights here mean so much to me…and not only because you’ve known me longer than anyone else in the world! But thank you so much for reminding me of my essence, as you’ve witnessed it unfold over the years, and for giving me the courage to keep returning to my essence this year, no matter what. Love and miss you always!! <3
Glad you enjoyed NC! NC has so much diversity…maybe try one of our coastal cabins on the OBX of Core Sound. MAGICAL. Visited here with my parents at 12 and returned with my babies 16 years later. I am celebrating 30 years of my NC home! Love your visual journaling practice. ♡
Yes! I love that you recommended the Outer Banks, Suzan 🙂 I, too, have loved calling North Carolina one of my homes away from home for the past 30 years — when I was little, my dad’s parents lived in Kitty Hawk, so every summer, my parents would pack me off to stay with them for a week or two at a time. Some of my earliest memories of life are set along the beaches of Nags Head and Jockey’s Ridge, and I’m so grateful that my family and I have returned there often over the years! I love that North Carolina holds just as much magic for you and your family, and perhaps our paths will even cross there one day 🙂 All the best to you!
What a lovely post! Sending you hugs and warmest wishes for a fabulous 2018! xxx
Thank you so much, dear Veena! Please know I’m sending those hugs and wishes right back to you today — I can’t wait to see what 2018 has in store for you 🙂 xxx
Candace what a wonderful post. You made us feel as if we were there with you. I share your love of cabins as well, I believe for the same reasons. You are so eloquent in your prose and your sketch is out-of-this-world. The investment in this sketch makes for an incredible souvenir! Thank you for sharing this and inspiring us for 2018. I too have been displaced this January, lost, as life is just twisting and turning. Like you I have finally accepted to let it be, let it pass and then regroup. Juan always tells me to be patient.
(I read your mama’s comment below, the tears streaming down my face, she’s so eloquent too and such a wonderful support for you!)
Thank you again Candace.
Hugs,
Treava
Dear Treava — thank you so much for sharing so honestly about how this past month has been for you. Interestingly enough, I’m just getting ready to work on this week’s story for the blog, where I’ll be writing about how I’ve also felt a little lost in life recently and unsure of how the path is going to straighten itself out again…so perhaps the quote I found for the story will resonate with you, too!
“Things take the time they take. Don’t worry.
How many roads did St. Augustine follow before he became St. Augustine?”
— Mary Oliver
How wonderful that Juan is always encouraging you to be patient — José is also an incredible pillar and force for patience in my own life, so I loved reading that 🙂 Please know that I am cheering you on and standing beside you right now, and that I have no doubt this season of twisting and turning will eventually lead to a season of strength and vision — and until it does, I’m sending all my best thoughts for peace and patience your way, Treava! All the very best and blessings to you today <3
Candace thank you for your kind and encouraging words. And that quote is perfect. Blessings to you too, and looking forward to Moment Sketchers this weekend! 🙂
I too have not really nailed down my intentions and goals and possibilities for the year 2018. I have just returned from a wonderful Road Scholar tour around Costa Rica. I carried my paints with me everywhere and never had a chance to get them wet. I did quick sketches of the birds we were seeing, using my sketches to help me learn to identify the new species I was seeing. Now that I’m home (as of last night) my intention is to work from my sketches in my studio. there is more travel on my horizon and I am learning to accept that there will be many stops and starts, many new beginnings in my year. Travel is not an interruption of my life, but a reality (and a gift) in my life. I accept that my work and focus will shift with each new adventure.
Thanks for an inspiring and beautifully illustrated (both in sketches and in photos) post. All the best for 2018.
“I am learning to accept that there will be many stops and starts, many new beginnings in my year… I accept that my work and focus will shift with each new adventure.” Sallie, those words you shared here have truly just brought a few tears to my eyes — they hold such incredible truth and beauty, and I can’t wait to write them in my journal later today…thank you so much for sharing them with me! Thank you as well for sharing that you’ve just returned from Costa Rica — I completely understand the challenge of not having enough time to sketch on a trip as you’d like, but as you said yourself, sketching could be a perfect way to keep the adventure going now that you’re home. Do you share your sketches online anywhere? I’d love to see them if you do! <3
Hi Candace–I have a website, salliewolf.com, and some of my sketches are on my watercolor page and also the moonproject page.
I am still thinking about what I want for my life and my art for 2018. Having come down with a bad cold is not helping. My mind is mush. Still, I always feel better, energized when I formulate possibilities and intentions for my life and work. I’m writing this from NYC where I am attending the 2018 SCBWI conference (that’s the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators.)
It really is time for me to get my act together. Or not. I hear Paul Simon, among others, is talking about “retirement.” I wonder what that would mean for me? I can’t see myself not keeping a journal/sketchbook or giving up my art studio. But I can see myself not pushing/striving to make my art and books known to the world.
But wouldn’t I still want to produce art and writing and risk the rejection of putting that work out into the world? Or do I want to lay on the couch in front of the TV and eat bon-bons?
This is such a beautiful post, I’ve had the same thoughts myself over the past few days. There is a lot of hype around “Getting Things Done”, checklists, routines and goal-setting, but it can all get a bit overwhelming and stifling if not limiting, especially for creative people. When you get into a state of flow you kind of need to throw everything out the window and go with the moment. It’s something I’m learning to balance myself. This year for instance I’d like to focus on improving my painting / drawing, piano and Spanish skills. And I’m slowly accepting that it’s ok to not have time to do all of those things every day. As for annual goals, I like to break it down into monthly, weekly and daily reviews. And if I sometimes miss a day or do the reviews a little late, it’s ok too 🙂
I loved reading about your goals for this year, Nikki — I obviously love your intention to focus more on painting and drawing, but as I’m living here in Uruguay, it was even more of a fun surprise to hear you’d like to improve your Spanish, too 🙂 I also really loved that you’ve already embraced a feeling of openness and acceptance about the year, knowing there might be days or seasons that don’t go exactly according to plan. Thanks so much for sharing all that with me, and I can’t wait to follow along your creative journey this year! <3
It’s all too easy to berate ourselves for not getting things done, or things going a different way than we intended. It’s hard to remember that many of our deadlines and goals are arbitrary and that we should take each moment as it comes instead of planning every minute…
What a beautiful cabin!
Thank you so much for that timely reminder, Jade! That’s one of those things that’s sometimes easier to remember in my mind as head knowledge, and harder to believe as true and lasting heart knowledge — so I really appreciate you reminding me to take each moment as it comes 🙂 I hope you’re having a wonderful 2018 so far!
Beautiful words in this gorgeous piece thank you Candace and lovely photos and sketches from both you and José. Very evocative of another time and made me very feel peaceful reading it. I loved the last paragraphs about what we feel we should be doing and what the universe actually has for us instead. I also find that if I ‘let go’, all of a sudden I feel calm and ‘know’ that everything will be fine but then the ‘gritty’ stuff takes over again! Very frustrating, but it is wonderful to read your lovely pieces to feel calm again.
Thank you so much for your wonderful words and insights, Victoria — I’m so happy to hear this story brought you a bit of peace, and even more, that it took you back to another time…that timelessness was definitely one of my favorite things about the cabin 🙂 And thank you as well for your timely reminder to let go and ‘know even without knowing’ that the path will be made clear in due time…I needed to hear that! I can’t wait to hear how this year is going for you so far, and I especially hope that you’re able to bring all of the amazing projects you started in 2017 to fruition in 2018. Big hugs from Montevideo! xoxo
Beautifully captured memories!
Thank you so much, Danielle!
What a lovely post. This year has felt off, as in off to a rocky or foggy start. I have no clue where to focus my attentions and that leaves me feeling like I’m being pulled in a million different directions with no clue how to proceed or what to do. I pulled out the paints for the first time this year last night. It felt good. But it also felt … something else. I also have started writing a blog and I feel the same way after publishing a post. Who am I doing this for? And why? My feelings of inadequacy are running high and I’m just not sure how worth it it is to continue. I’m reassessing a lot of decisions so far this year, maybe I’ll find some answers next month. [sorry I sort of went off on a bit of a tangent; your feelings of hoping to feel calm but leaving frazzled had an effect]
Dear Rosie — thank you so much for sharing how this year has been for you so far; I’m only sorry to hear it’s been off to a rocky, foggy start. What you shared about asking yourself, ‘Who am I doing this for? And why?’ also really resonated with me — if it makes you feel any better, please know I find myself asking those questions all the time 🙂 And whenever I do, I try to come back to the simple truth of it — with everything I do or create or share with the world, would still do it, even if it was only for myself?
If the answer is yes, then that means it’s something worth doing — and that the worth is completely inherent in the sheer process of doing it. I try to make sure every story I write or sketch I create are stories and sketches that I would love to create, even if there was no one to read or view them. And so this then becomes a touchstone for me on the darker days — days when it feels like no one is reading or that I’m not bringing value to anyone….I try to return to that simple truth and trust that there is value alone is the act of creating something that matters to *me.* I don’t know if that resonates with you at all, but please know how much I understand those questions of doubt!
Again, it really means a lot that you felt able to share those thoughts here, Rosie, and please never apologize for going off on any tangents 🙂 Your thoughts and insights are always welcome, and I’ll be hoping this year gets a little less rocky and foggy for you very soon <3
I love the simple beauty of this cabin and its surrounds, Candace. How serene it looks! I understand what you say about the first month of the new year and the expectations we place on ourselves about what we think we should be doing, focusing on, and have in place by now. It’s a kind of pressure to perform. But life isn’t like that and sometimes doing just something small, a single step or action in the right direction is enough. I love Thoreau’s quote that you’ve used – what great words to live by, “Live in each season as it passes”. A great reminder to live in the present and I would add, find joy in our everyday. Thanks for sharing your beautiful words and photos.
“Sometimes doing just something small, a single step or action in the right direction is enough.” These are such wise words and a wonderful perspective to live by, Colleen — thank you so much for sharing that with me. By the way, I hope you are continuing to rest after this past weekend…please know I’m sending all my best healing thoughts your way! <3
Thank you for your thoughts, Candace. I’m feeling much better now. Lovely of you to think of me and I appreciate it very much.
Candace, the beauty and elegance of your work and spirit inspire me — even on days when I’m not reading at your blog. Thank you so very much. Please keep on! Someday I hope to be in your presence.
Dear Judy, thank you so much for your kind words here — I’m honored to read that the stories and sketches I share here bring inspiration to you. By the way, I don’t think I ever had a chance to thank you for taking part in our January sketching challenge! It was such a joy to see your beautiful daffodils, and I so hope you’ll join more of our challenges throughout 2018 🙂 Sending a big hug to you, and have a wonderful weekend!
So inspiring, I, as a writer, am thinking about spaces as loci for creation. The cabin motif stands as one such event. Cabins are unique in that they are separated from but by doing so they unify with.
Separate from Society/ Unify with Nature
Separate from the rush of life (qua skimming stone on water)/ unify with calm reflection (qua depth of inner being)
Separate from Exterior / Unify with interior (Although here this interior also has an exterior at the threshold like a window or door).
I love the cabins I have seen and experienced and lived and merged with over my years. They are mystic places for they never stand in the midst of society but exterior to it. Moreover, the openness they cause brings forth the fountain of creativity so sought for in life and so lost to us in society. We need these places of calm reflection as much as breath for both bring life and vibrancy to us and the world. Thank you for sharing. I dream of being able to sketch to paint to draw more than stick figures. Alas my craft is words. Still, I doodle. Mayhaps that is enough.