Makeup Day 2: Not far from the offices at Pack Forest, there is a little cabin set back about fifty feet from the 1000 Rd., faded checker curtains at the windows and the door secured by a massive bolt with several locks. An industrial oxygen tank stands on the collapsing porch, an incongruous point of balance to this superannuated chair. It is obvious that the building has not been occupied for many years, and I doubt the door has been swung open in a decade, but always as I pass it, I wonder who lived there, and why.
I recall a time when the chair would support a visitor; in fact, I have sat in it on several occasions as I thought about the cabin's former occupants and why the little building had been let go to ruin. I sometimes imagined myself living snugly there, the single room warmed by a wood fire and the chatter of birds in the forest beyond the windows. It reminds me of my earlier days of duty at Mount Rainier and the simpler, if more rugged way of living I then enjoyed. Indeed, were it not that I own a home with all the creature comforts I require, I would be tempted to inquire about a position which would include tenancy (after some improvements, of course). Ah, but it is a fantasy, although if this building knew it, it would be pleased to know it is admired even in its present state of decline.
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