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I was about six years old and a bit feisty. Some things never change. My mama was fussing at me-so I decided to run away. Mama saw me packing a suitcase and asked what I was doing. "I'm running away," I told her. She informed me that it was probably for the best since she was so mean and all. She only had one condition: I was not allowed to take anything that she or my daddy had bought for me. We went through my Hello Kitty suitcase together and removed all such items-which left me with nothing, not even a suitcase. Mama cleared her throat and said, "Those shoes . . . we bought them . . . and the socks . . . and the shorts . . . and the shirt . . . oh, and those panties." Butt-naked, with my hand on my hip, I grabbed the lip gloss I had purchased with my own money and marched right out the door. I hopped on my bike, which was a gift from my godparents, and rode down the street to our music minister and his wife's house. I told them how my mama had taken away everything I owned but my lip gloss and my bicycle. I asked them if I could live with them. --Emily Bray, 38 years old, Memory Project Participant Little Cabin on the Trail inspires folks to assign great value to their seemingly insignificant memories and encourages them to use those memories to become their family storytellers. Personal stories give everyone permission to pause and consider that there really is a bigger picture, an eternal picture, where past, present, and future generations are linked, not only through their blood, but through their stories. Little Cabin on the Trail will certainly entertain readers with its view into one very ordinary family's life; but more importantly, it will help them to realize that they, too, have stories just begging to be told--better stories . . . because they are theirs.
This Old House meets Wayne’s World in this zany guide to designing and building tiny homes Derek Diedricksen has always had a love for small, modest houses ever since his father gave him the book Tiny Tiny Houses by Lester Walker for his tenth birthday. Combining his artistic abilities, wild imagination, and his passion for small houses, he self-published Humble Homes, Simple Shacks, Cozy Cottages, Ramshackle Retreats, Funky Forts, and Whatever the Heck Else we could Squeeze in Here in 2009. This book is a collection of Diedricksen’s creative/imaginative sketches for building small houses, shacks, cottages, and forts. The sketches are accompanied with hand-written commentary, both instructive and comical. Derek’s main purpose is to get your creative juices flowing and encourage you to get off the couch and use your hands. Believing that specific building plans squash creativity, he avoids too many detailed instructions, giving you the chance to put your own creative spin on your very own small abode (even if it is just in your imagination).
First-person narratives of 21 former Virginia slaves edited from WPA slave narratives.
The Cabin at the Trail's End tells such a drama in the lives of the Bainbraidge family of Oregon City in 1843, recording with wit and frontier wisdom the heartache and joy, the betrayal and triumph that charts their daily lives.
Fifty years ago, Joan Crosby and her husband, Dick, moved from the Minneapolis suburbs to spend a winter on the outskirts of the BWCAW in a primitive one-room cabin without road access or modern conveniences. She baked pies in a Dutch oven while Dick kept the woodpile topped up. They heard the wolves howl and the loons call, watched the seasons change, entertained occasional visitors-invited or not-and made periodic trips across two lakes and a connecting portage to their vehicle, then on into Grand Marias to do laundry and replenish supplies.
To escape the city, to live close to nature in the beauty and quiet of the wilderness, to try to find within oneself a pioneer resourcefulness of spirit, mind, and hand—it is an almost universal dream. Helen Hoover and her husband made it come true for themselves, and this is the richly told story of how they did it. As she demonstrated in The Gift of the Deer—a book greatly loved and praised—Mrs. Hoover has the gift of sharing with her readers her own profound feeling for the wilderness she has made her home and for the wild animals whom she makes her friends, without destroying the integrity of their wild lives. But she was not always so at ease with nature. And she tells here how she and her husband, leaving behind everything that was familiar to them, bridged the infinite distance in life-style from Chicago, where they had lived, to a cabin home on the fringe of Minnesota’s northernmost wilderness. Neither of them had so much as a Cub Scout’s experience of the woods, and their first year was punctuated with near-disasters. They quickly discovered that a long-time desire for the simple Thoreauvian life was not enough. The obstinance of inanimate objects—the crumbling stone foundation, the leaky roof, the unruly double-bitted ax that must be mastered when you depend on a woodburning stove at thirty below—was new to them. The changing seasons astonished the not only with surprising loveliness but with unexpected crises of survival. But they managed, despite their trials, to rebuild their primitive cabin. And, as they worked and learned, they built for themselves, little by little, a rewarding relationship not only with the sparsely settled community but with a marvelous succession of their closest neighbors: wild weasels and jays, squirrels and shy fishers, even bears in the basement. The reader experiences it all, the hardships and joys, the gradual feeling of becoming connected to earth and elements, of belonging. The is the special delight of Helen Hoover’s warm, evocative, and sometimes extremely funny account of the way in which two city people made for themselves A Place in the Woods.
Observation by author of birds, animals, plants and trees in Minnesota.