After my unexpectedly early return to the northern hemisphere in March 2020, life left its usual track. As I hinted at in my 2020 recap, it was a very different year for me. I had found a new housing setup with old college friends to allow for more personal space during early COVID lockdowns. When those friends were packing up to move to Anchorage in May, it was time for me to move back to the couch at Scott’s house, my usual home base.
I settled in there in May, started my baking job in June, and then left for a 5 week trip to Michigan in July. When I returned to Alaska in late August, I knew my fate was sealed for a full winter in Fairbanks. I also knew it wasn’t right for me to remain on a cot in the cleared half of Scott’s spare room for another 8 months. For 8 years he had given me cheap lodging during my town stints; we both knew it was time for me to strike out on my own.
Having not looked for my own housing since summer 2012, I was scared. I was facing the idea of becoming a “normal person” who would live somewhere in town, need a car, and have normal rent to pay on a monthly basis. Where did I want to live? Was it definitely time to return to dry cabin life? Would I be able to find a furnished cabin? Could I somehow convince myself to live through winter without a car?
No. Despite being thrifty, I would allow myself to procure a set of 4 wheels that came with a motor. After all, I’d reached well past my goal of paying off my student loans – 3+ years earlier – before buying a car.
Knowing I’d have a car broadened the search area for lodging. That was the good news. Given the COVID scene, Craigslist and Facebook Marketplace weren’t flush with fall housing options like one would expect in a college town. I walked through all my old haunts on the UAF campus to scout out boards where I used to always see cabin postings. I barely found any. That was the bad news.
One place I spotted early in my search held possibility. It was about 1.5 miles from the main UAF campus and even closer to the campus trail system to which I’d lost a lot of sleep to midnight hikes in my college years. Both 1-story cabins had nice open floorplans, lofted beds, and decent countertop space for kitchen play. I contacted the landlord and went to check out the cabins.
While each fit the bill physically, the price of heating oil and electric on top of rent made them seem too pricey compared to a couple of similar cabins that were farther from town. My attempt to lower the price didn’t fly, and while the landlords decided they’d accept a 7 month lease, they were hoping for someone to sign for a year. Despite liking the place, I decided to give the search more time.
The weeks from late August to early September slid by, and I found myself wondering if I’d find a better place. I passed on a teeny, tiny cabin with quite the hill climb, as well as a room in a shared house on the outskirts of Fairbanks. I wasn’t finding many options, so when a posting for one of those first cute cabins I’d checked out popped back up, I decided to act on it.
I got in touch with the landlord, paid for a background check, and opened an account for online rent payments. We agreed to meet the next day for me to sign a rental lease.
Yet even with my future housing seemingly settled, I couldn’t help but look at Craigslist just one more time.
And there it was.
A cute little cabin in the woods. I had to check it out.
I immediately picked up the phone and called to ask if I could bike over to check it out the next morning – before my afternoon meeting to sign for the other cabin.
“We’re having a party tonight if you want to swing by,” Naomi replied.
Being only bike-based, I don’t think I had the time or energy for a ride up that night, but I confirmed that I’d be over to look at it the next morning.
It has been long enough that I don’t remember exactly what happened the next morning, but I was basically sold on the place after I caught my breath at the top of the driveway. From the main road to their house was almost all uphill – with the steepest part being at the end. After taking a quick look at the cabin and checking out the landlords’ backyard garden and chicken coop, I indicated that I wanted to be the next renter, if they’d have me. Naomi let me know someone from out of state had expressed interest, but she was on board with me claiming the cabin.
Feeling quite pleased, I biked home, canceled plans with the other cabin, and let Scott know I’d have a home ready in early October.
I’d gone looking for a cabin and found the best I could have hoped for. Not only did I find a hobbit hole of a cabin home, but I found welcoming people and puppies in a lovely setting.
I can’t overstate how much I appreciate having Clyde, Naomi, Daniel (their 2 year old), Ham, Loki, Mimosa (cat), and the chickens as neighbors. Mr. Loki, the neighbor dog who is best friends with Ham and Loki and so therefore best friends with me, is my neighbor to the other side. Our backyard trail leads to a whole network of trails that we can walk any time. It’s magical.
Ham and Loki bring me the greatest joy. They have adopted me into their family just as much as I’ve adopted them into my life. The doggie door in their house gives them anytime access to be outside whenever the temperature is moderate. They routinely run down to greet me as I come up the driveway and get out of my car. Ham also comes to the cabin and paws the door to knock all the time. For a while I didn’t automatically answer and let him in… but now I’ve broken down. He’s my very good boy. He comes in, makes the very small rounds, gets some love, and then tries to figure out the likelihood that I’ll take him on a walk or play with him. When I open the door and say “see you later,” he knows that means I’m busy for now. So naturally he sometimes returns a time or two just to make sure. He really does seem to come over just to see what I’m up to. It’s the cutest.
Loki doesn’t come over as reliably, but she also is very game to come visit when she knows I’m up for it. If I hear either dog barking, all I have to do is crack my door and call. Seeing them come down the trail to come say hi is the best thing Every. Single. Time.
A few weeks ago there was a morning when my face instantly changed from sleepy to wide awake when I stepped outside for a first thing in the morning outhouse visit. I looked down the trail and saw Ham was on his way over to say hi. As soon as he saw me, he started bounding. Loki barked from the yard, and once she heard my voice saying “Hi, buddy!” she came running.
Now, I really needed the outhouse, but Loki really needed love. She lives for it. So I got caught at the turn for the outhouse because Loki needed attention. I went to the outhouse when I managed to break away, and Loki climbed in with me. This was not a first, but I crack up every time because there really is not enough turning room for her. She just NEEDS more love, though. She’s ridiculous.
Mr. Loki completes the canine trifecta. (Mr. is the usual modifier to his name to differentiate between him and “our” Loki, who is a girl.) He’s a super friendly, fluffy black dog who doesn’t seem to understand his own size. I learned from the neighbors that he came from one of the bush villages, and he certainly has found a great life here. He can wander over to hang with Ham and Loki basically any time he’s outside. The three of them make the cutest gang. Mr. Loki knows he’s welcome in the house or my cabin, and he is also welcome to join us on walks. My brother is correct in saying that his running gait is along the lines of “galumphing.” He’s nearly taken me out a couple times, but it’s only because he doesn’t realize he’s a big boy. He’s very sweet.
And yes, as much as I spend all my time going on about how awesome my chocolate labs are, the people are just as great. Naomi and Clyde have let me know their house is my house, whether that means housesitting for them, just using the kitchen (with running water) whenever I want, doing laundry, harvesting raspberries from their amazing bush, or simply popping in to visit with dogs or humans. We swap baked goods, garden items, and chicken eggs.
I know it won’t be home forever, but I love my little cabin at Dead End Ranch. For a long time I’ve thought of my cabin as Bag End, as it really was built for short people. Lately I’ve also come to name it The Doghouse. I live in The Doghouse, and I don’t think Ham and Loki want it any other way.
