Here is an example of why having a place is Cabin Country is so great:

Last weekend, a solitary fisherman was casting into the Sandy River.

Your Scribe was on the other side of the river, inert.

I was studying my river bank, trying to figure out how to fashion a more effective entry point for the canoe.

Our former launching point had been wiped away by erosion.

The Sandy, though not a mighty body of water, does have an awesome propensity for eroding the (sandy) river banks.

But back to the story.

This lone, middle-aged man is casting.

A woman, with large dark dog, is walking through the fields. She heads toward the river with her pooch.

She does not see the fisherman.

The woman sits contentedly, then begins to throw dog treats into the river.

The animal, not small, crashes into the water with much noise and clamor.

One doesn't have to be a Harry VanderWeide to know that dogs cavorting 50 yards from a fisherman means no fish on the hook.

The angler looked over, but said nothing.

The woman, after some minutes, noticed him downstream.

She said, quite softly, "I didn't see you. I hope I am not disturbing your fishing."

He smiled, and said, "Not really. They're just little ones I see, and they don't seem interested."

I thought he was rather kind.

The woman with disruptive dog said, in somewhat of a stage whisper, "I'm glad I didn't ruin your fishing. This is so nice here. It is a little slice of heaven."

Yes, it was a still, warm, sunny day on the river.

It was a little slice of heaven.

E-mail this entry to a friend