Minnewaska Musings

by Paul Gremmels

I have, as of this writing, re-built two 1870’s era log cabins. Mostly, I used modern day tools for the work, but I also did some of the work with traditional tools just to see how hard this job used to be. It is hard. Very hard. The two often asked questions about my cabin building are; “Why?” And, “What do you use them for?” Honestly, they are two questions I never really thought to ask.

My affinity for log cabins, more specifically, dove-tail notched log cabins, began in my childhood, when my father saved an old log cabin that sat abandoned in the woods where I grew up. It was a small 12 X 14 foot cabin that had been built post-civil war and prior to the railroad arriving in our county, sometime in the early 1870’s. During my high school years, my father and I worked on that cabin on and off for three summers. We first put a roof on it, bucked in two windows, a door and filled the gaps in the logs (called “chinking”) with clay and straw. Then, we added a small half-loft and tongue and grove floor. Finally, we added a Franklin wood stove that was more than adequate to heat the little cabin.

Life moves on and time is fleeting. After my parents passed, my brothers and I decided to sell their beautiful house in the woods. I couldn’t bring myself to sell the log cabin with it. So, I disassembled it, log by log and moved it to my place, about five miles away. On the advice of a fellow cabin builder, I painted numbers on all the logs and took many pictures prior to disassembly. This would prove to be great advice, because after looking at the pile of logs on the building site, the job seemed insurmountable. Actually, if I had known how much work lay ahead, I may not have taken on the project at all.

Arriving at the cabin the other day by snowshoes, I took them off and tromped my boots and brushed off my pants while standing on the porch. I hung the snowshoes on one of the spikes pounded into a log, opened the heavy door that has a stained-glass window that my wife made. The furnishings are sparse, with just a table, four chairs and a bench. In the corner is the old Franklin with a wood box next to it. I put some kindling into the stove and touched a match to it. The draw of the flu sounded as if the stove was taking a first breath after nearly suffocating. The flames started to cackle and I added another larger log. The heating of the cabin was gradual but steady and before long I no longer could see my breath and shortly thereafter found myself taking off my coat. I sat down at the table and since I never bring my cellphone or computer out to the cabin, I took out a notepad and pen. I looked out the six pane window that faces south and saw that it was beginning to snow. I considered the questions of “why I built this cabin?” and “what I use it for?” I jotted down, “This is why.” I slowly circled my pen around the “why.” Then I jotted down, “This is what.” I circled my pen around the “what” and looked back at the snow. The original builders from one-hundred and fifty years ago would have thought it odd that I would even ask such questions. Their reason was simple, singular and obvious. I then wrote down – “survival.”