Moments That Stick: A Cabin, a Storm, and a Card Game

After my solo trip to Vermont in March 2019, I decided to take my kids on a northbound adventure in the middle July. Cade, who had just turned 10, wanted to stay in a mountain cabin. Liberty, almost 9, dreamed of eating lobster in Maine. I hoped to make it to Vermont and make my own pilgrimage to Walden Pond in Massachusetts.

Unlike our first trip, we planned this trip with more intention. I spent evenings researching activities and finding places to stay. Cade lobbied for a cabin in the Catskills, and I have long dreamed of a timber-framed or log house with rich wood grain, warm tones, and cozy corners, so we searched together. I was inspired by a coworker’s cross-country trip filled with unique rentals and used a short-term rental app for the first time. Eventually, we found a secluded cabin nestled into the woods just outside of Margaretville, New York.

When that July morning arrived, we finished packing the van and headed north. I typed the address into my phone and headed out, unaware there were two roads/streets by the name of Swart in the area. Our route through the Poconos was scenic and relaxed – more meandering than efficient, and that was just fine.

When we arrived in Margaretville, the directions brought us to a white house in town. I was slightly confused but rationalized that perhaps I was picking up a key here or something.  I was also very much concerned that this was going to be a disaster where the house never existed and we had been scammed necessitating us to find other accommodations.  I parked in front of the house. Leaving the kids in the van, I slowly approached the house. After a few awkward knocks and a mainly one-sided conversation with me mentioning Airbnb almost every other word, I figured out my mistake and I reset the address in my phone. The real cabin was less than a couple miles away.

View of the mountains and pasture from the stone pile fence in the Catskills.

The drive up to the cabin was beautiful. The cabin sat quietly among hemlock trees, beside piled stone fences, and an open pasture. Liberty made a beeline for the swing hanging from a tree. Inside, it looked like a movie set version of a rustic getaway: barnboard paneling, a corrugated metal roof, a wood stove, a butcher block, antique tools that could have come straight from Roy Underhill’s The Woodwright’s Shop, and a vintage L.L. Bean deck of cards.

Since Cade had gotten a smartphone the previous fall, he very much enjoyed finding interesting places to eat. As best I can tell, his calculus incorporated the overall rating, individual reviews, the menu, and the ambiance of the place. He has a very high success rate of finding great places to eat in Maryland, DC, and even New York City. He proposed one that made me hesitate. After a brief discussion, I used my parental privilege to veto his choice for dinner.

The inside of the cabin.

We ended up at a restaurant just outside of Margaretville. The restaurant had a sit-down area, a takeout area, a large selection of gourmet sodas, and an ice cream area. Cade was deflated until his steak dinner arrived in multiple containers. Liberty and I split a pizza. On the way back, a whitetail buck crossed the road just as the sky darkened and the wind picked up.

By the time we got to the cabin, the storm had arrived. Our plans for a firepit and stargazing would have to wait, replaced with listening to the rain hammering on the metal roof. We ate inside, then pulled out the playing cards. We started with War, but soon I introduced them to Egyptian Rat Screw, a fast-paced, slap-happy game I had learned as a teen. The room filled with laughter as we competed around the kitchen peninsula.

The cabin in the hemlock woods.

The next morning, Cade had another pick: a diner for breakfast that was an hour away. The drive through the valleys of the Catskills with mountains on each side reminded me of my childhood in western Maryland with pastures and small farms that each seemed to have a few cows and an old tractor – like something out of a bygone era. The kids were still snoozing and trying to wake up, so I enjoyed the quiet moments to ponder.

As we approached the front door of the diner, my eye caught a hand-written sign warning: cash only. I scrambled back to the van and pieced together cash I had squirreled away in different spots. I had enough, but it was a little nerve racking. Inside, animal heads watched over us, including an albino deer. As we ate, I saw pride on Cade’s face – he had chosen well.

The best-laid plans sometimes go awry, but those adaptations? They are often the parts we remember most. Parenting, like travel, means balancing preparation with flexibility, and finding meaning in both.