THE CABIN AT “HARMONY BEND”

 

            Perfect marriages produce an amazing force; a synergistic magic defying logic or chance.  Our marriage has spawned so many of these extraordinary results--- four children (2 & 2), shared coaching-teaching careers, Peace Corp Service, Joint publication, etc. ---that we have even given them a name: Dream Trues.  We’ve become convinced that our clearly-defined, closely-held, joint goals (dreams) will come true; none more delayed, unlikely, or fulfilled than THE CABIN AT “HARMONY BEND”.

 

            In the spring of 1952, early in the second year of our marriage we were taking—foolishly, I now freely confess-- a float-fishing trip down the fabulous, free-flowing Cossotot River in Western Arkansas.  Oblivious to looming thunder storms, we set out in a borrowed wooden boat with a rented pup tent and meager provisions intending to over-night once on the long float, largely “eating what we catch.” 

 

            The first day was idyllic with great fishing, rewarding solitude (others knew better), no tip-overs in the wild rapids and matchless scenery.  An unexpected afternoon scene provided genesis to one of our first Dream-Trues.  While leisurely paddling through one of the long, serene river stretches which punctuate and belie the inevitable next rapids, we were awe struck by the high rock-faced bluff on one side of the river. This exceptional scene was then Norman Rockwelled when at the very apex the small classic log cabin came into view, smoke gently curling from the rock chimney.  The bearded man outside returned our wave as we simultaneously mouthed our un-rehearsed and far-fetched dream “One day we want one of those.”  

 

            When we later camped downstream, we were still exulting over the unearthing of another of our compatibilities. Not even the drenching mid-night rain which collapsed our tent into our faces dampened our mutual-held passion to one day have a remote log cabin on a pristine river.  Nor did the rising raging river which made our “dawn’s early light” departure for our take-out point both hasty and hazardous.

 

            Minimal teacher salaries, out-of-state moves, children’s college expenses, soaring land prices, up-stream dams, population incursions---all these forces mounted against the practicality of our unlikely but genuine, unforced dream ever coming true.  Providentially, none of these kept us from time-to-time mentally revisiting that vivid Cossotot vision.  Ultimately career moves brought us to proximity and familiarity with the Caddo River which has similar characteristics to the Cossotot.  Meanwhile family obligations lessened, finances improved and by 1980 I had even discovered a bluff view on the Caddo that closely matched the decades-old Cossotot image. 

 

            A series of improbable business relationships allowed me the unheard-of opportunity to select and purchase a matchless remote site 100’ above a rock-faced bluff on what the natives call Caddo Bend, a sweeping turn of the river with raging rapids above and below.

 

            After absorbing the stringent land purchase and having access roads built and a foundation poured in 1987, we began the construction of our 900’ dream cabin, a Lincoln Log-like kit. which allowed us, with family help, the pleasure of doing much of the early construction work on what was later to become the rustic but entirely comfortable cabin at “HARMONY BEND”.  Rustic includes wood stove heat, wide-board floors attached with cut nails, a huge back porch hanging 100’ above the Caddo and a simulated outdoor toilet, inside with modern plumbing. The plaque inside the front door reads In harmony with nature, our family, our music, our neighbors, and our God.

 

            Our cabin not only confirmed the force of a compatible marriage and mutually held dreams but it afforded our children, grandchildren, visitors and us many incomparable memories.

 

“Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who only dream at night.”

                                                                                  Edgar Allen Poe