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Stories + Recipes

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Poker

Lori Narlock

No Peekie. Gunga Din. Black Mariah High, Aces Low. Black Mariah Low, Aces High. These were the words that filled our Saturday night at the cabin last week. These were the words of a poker game, a game I identify more with the cabin and my grandparents than I do with Vegas.

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The Bridges

Lori Narlock

Just as there is only one road that leads to the cabin, there is only one highway that leads to it. Now a state route, it was once the main thoroughfare, providing a public route from California to Oregon. Because of the highway’s prominence, two bridges were built in the early 1930s to provide passage over the deep ravines where creeks snake through the land.

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The Cabin Road. Part 3.

Lori Narlock

“Stop at the burnt-down house, stop at the burnt-down house” us kids would chant whenever we loaded into the back of my grandfather’s truck to go to the store or river. The burnt-down house. That’s the landmark I have the strongest memory of as a kid. Now, nearly every stretch of road has a nickname or some notable characteristic that we use as reference.

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The Cabin Road. Part 2.

Lori Narlock

Two miles long, the cabin road has changed little in the six decades since the property was purchased. It remains an unpaved dirt road. In warm, dry weather it’s so dusty a cloud follows behind your car, leaving it covered with a thin layer of brown powder when you stop. In winter, the road becomes muddy and forms large potholes where the water pools.

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The Cabin Road. Part 1.

Lori Narlock

I started “driving” on the cabin road years before. Like all the kids in our family I took turns sitting on my grandfather’s lap and holding onto the wheel. It's a tradition that has been carried on through each generation and most recently with Josh as a little guy sitting on Jack’s lap to "drive." 

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