23 Years

23 years ago on these early July dates, with the help of friends, I started setting foam panels in a freshly excavated hole for the foundation of my cabin. I recall the scent of freshly turned earth and pine as we worked. And I recall the excitement that filled me from my toes to my fingertips as we engaged in those early stages of construction.

Back then, I anticipated a timeframe of perhaps a dozen years from that point to fully frame and finish the cabin, inside and out. Well, life happens, and life doesn't happen. Losing Uyen in 2011 brought me to a complete stop for about five years.

I lost my heart for the cabin for a spell.

Since 2022, Desiree and I have been pouring our efforts into finishing the cabin. Just yesterday, I installed the last kitchen countertop receptacles and dropped in the kitchen sink. All that remains to completely finish the cabin's main floor are two small pieces of trim and the installation of the range hood. Today's post includes a few photographs documenting the process.

Me Studying the Foam Panels, July 11, 2003

Me on the Formed Walls, July 19, 2003

The Kitchen Counter, July 12, 2026

Sink in Place, July 12, 2026

—Mitchell Hegman

Limits

I have my limits. I can, for example, drink only 3 beers. A fourth one will give me a headache. I can only listen to about 30 seconds of opera singing before I get really uncomfortable and start squirming. When it comes to outside temperatures, my maximum is around 80°F. Anything beyond that causes me to flush red and sweat profusely if I try to do any physical activity. Yesterday, while driving out of the valley to reach the cool mountain air at the cabin, my car registered 103°F at one point. I'm pretty sure that's near my melting point.

Outside Temperature Registered on My Car

—Mitchell Hegman

Yarrow

Yarrow (Achillea millefolium) is one of those unassuming wildflowers with an outsized reputation. Its scientific name comes from the Greek hero Achilles, who, according to legend, used the plant to treat the wounds of his soldiers. For centuries, yarrow was valued as a medicinal herb to help stop bleeding. Today, it is better known as a hardy plant that thrives in poor soils, tolerates drought, and attracts sexy pollinators, including bees and butterflies.

Yarrow (the white-flowered variety) is native to Montana and is widely distributed, tending to thrive in open spaces. Its flat clusters of white flowers sit above finely divided, fern-like leaves that release a vital herbal scent when crushed. It spreads by seed and shallow underground rhizomes, allowing it to gradually form expanding colonies where conditions suit it. Tough, attractive, and remarkably resilient, yarrow is a plant that needs barely a foothold to establish itself.

A word of caution: Given its exceptionally tough, opportunistic nature, yarrow will create a mat of roots and take over a flower garden if given the opportunity.

Yarrow Clusters Under My Mayday Tree

Yarrow Structure

—Mitchell Hegman

Habakkuk’s Penny

While handling a Bible someone gifted Desiree, I noticed a rather conspicuous gap between the pages in one spot. Upon opening the Bible there, I found a shiny new penny.

Strange.

Why there? A random act? Sheer chance? Or might some design be in effect?

The coin marked the beginning of Habakkuk, a minor prophet. I was unfamiliar with the book and had to do some studying.

Habakkuk is a remarkably honest little book. The prophet looks at a world drowning in violence, corruption, and injustice and asks God the question believers have been asking for thousands of years: "Why don't You do something?" God's answer is unsettling. Habakkuk learns that faith is not built on having firm answers. Sometimes it must carry true believers through hard answers and anguish. By the end of the book, nothing around Habakkuk has changed. Trouble is still coming. Yet his outlook has been transformed. He chooses to rejoice in God, even if the crops fail, the livestock disappear, and every earthly reason for optimism evaporates.

This is not far removed from the story of Job, but it is more distressing in one respect. Habakkuk receives no earthly restoration like the rewards bestowed upon Job for his faith through strife. Instead, he is left to trust God without seeing the outcome he might have hoped for.

I am afraid I would require a firm answer about the need for suffering and, thus, Habakkuk's penny is lost on me.

Habakkuk’s Penny

—Mitchell Hegman

The Maiden Step

Yesterday, I drove up to the cabin and completed the concrete slab project by stripping the forms and backfilling the edges with soil. The finish on the concrete is lovely. Desiree did a great job on the surface, and there are no rock pockets along the sides.

As much as I like rocks, they are not useful when they form air pockets within concrete.

Before driving back home, I misted the slab with water to encourage a slow curing process, which produces stronger concrete. Although the sacks of premix say you can walk on the pour after 24 hours, I have yet to take a single step on it. Maybe Des can take the "maiden step" the next time we go to the cabin.

The Slab After Stripping the Forms

Backfilled Slab

—Mitchell Hegman

The Big Pour

A couple of weeks ago, Desiree and I set the forms for a concrete pad at the lower entry door to the cabin. Yesterday, we poured and finished the concrete.

Poured-in-place concrete projects are backbreaking. In this case, using 50, 60, and 80-pound sacks of premix, we fed a portable mixer to produce 18 batches of concrete, which we then bucketed and shoveled into place. The pour itself required almost four hours. Finishing the concrete and cleaning up the far-flung construction mess took another two hours.

We also learned something: Desiree is a pretty good concrete finisher. Good to know for future projects.

Before the First Batch

Des Working the First Two Pours

Me Feeding the Mixer

Finished Slab

—Mitchell Hegman

The Ghost of the Woods

People sometimes call the elk the ghost of the woods, and it is difficult to imagine a more fitting nickname. Elk weigh several hundred pounds, yet they can slip through a forest soundlessly. They may appear in the half-light of dawn or prance from a bank of morning fog as if materializing from another world. Then, just as suddenly, a dozen might vanish without notice. A few silent strides into the timber, and creatures taller than most horses simply dissolve among the trees and shadows. Tawny hides blend with the colors of bark and dried grass, while their keen noses and sharp ears detect us long before we can detect them.

Elk have certainly lived up to their moniker at my cabin. I have owned the property for 26 years this month and have never personally spotted an elk there. I have seen them near my place. I have found their tracks and pellets. But the elk have eluded me entirely.

Yesterday, in a new twist, when I cleared my game camera photographs, I found a dozen images of elk near my cabin. Some were captured in darkness. Others appeared in broad daylight, caught in a single image before melting back into the woods.

Elk in the Dark

Elk in the Daylight

—Mitchell Hegman