The Shack

My family has a cabin in …..

Okay. In the spirit on honesty, it’s a shack.

My family has a shack in Riverside, Wyoming. It is a small town, (population 66 people, up from 52 a few yeras ago) on the western side of the state. It is near Encampment, which was once going to be the state’s capitol instead of Cheyenne. We are proud of our little shack. See, it is legendary. At least, in our family it is.

My Granddad Stephens, who I never knew, bought this odd little sliver of land in Riverside back in the day. He would not buy a home in Cheyenne, as he didn’t want anythimg so permanent. He wanted to be able to up and go whenever he was ready. (Spoiler: He stayed in Cheyenne.) But he bought this land in Riverside. There are a few stories about what happened next, but I will tell the story I heard. One day, my Granddad and a buddy (who shall remain nameless) drove up to an abandoned, one room logging cabin on federal land, hooked this cabin to his truck, dragged it to that little piece of land, and planted it there. This was in 1956, so I hope the statute of limitations has run out. Granddad was a bit of a rebel, from what I have heard of him. Anyway, not wanting the cabin to stay a simple one-room dwelling, Granddad and Grandma, along with my Uncle, build a room onto it. I hear that Grandma and my Uncle did most of the building. Knowing my Grandma and my Uncle, I wouldn’t be surprised.

That is how we got our shack. It has no road access, no running water, no electricity. It has a large wood-burning stove for cooking, a pot bellied stove in the addition for heat, a table, and a cot or two. It used to be a right of passage that you had to spend a night in the shack to join the family. At least, so I hear. And it was a better test if you did it in the winter. We don’t make folks do that any more.

Granddad was born on July 4th, so every few years, or every other year, or when we can, the family gathers there to celebrate his birthday. We aren’t a huge family, but we are big enough to be scattered across several states. Our lives don’t interact as much as we would like. My cousins and I, though, we grew up very close, because my dad adored his sister. And loved his brother. So we got together often. It is this tradition we try, through The Shack, to continue. We eat breakfast together, we swim at the hobo pool in nearby Saratoga, we enjoy the beautiful Wyoming wilderness, we eat dinner around a campfire, we make s’mores, we tell stories. Stories of those who have come before, of times past. It is there that the lore of our famliy gets preserved. It is there we remember Granddad, and Grandma, and Uncle Leroy, and Aunt Joan, and my Dad.. Truth be told, I feel like they join us up there. We remember what it means to be family. The Shack is the spiritual home of our family It is where our heart is. This feeling, this family, this Shack—this is Grandma and Granddad’s legacy.

It almost makes The Shack, well, a castle.

Peace,

Kathie