Zachary P.'s Memoir

The Cabin

“We’re coming up on mile marker number 35,” my mother exclaimed and pointed at the side of the highway. Yes, we have almost arrived. 35 more miles to go! My brother created a sound of agony and lifted his hairy head. “Already, I was sleeping!” His eyes adjusted to the new light and he checked the clock. “7:00!? Ugh. Remember to wake me up earlier, Zack.”
Finally, after 4 hours of driving, we arrived in Lyndonville, Vermont. Almost exactly the same as every time we have ever gone to the Cabin, my Dad pulled into Miss Lyndonville Diner parking lot, where everyone put on their boots before stepping onto the newly fallen snow. I hopped out of our truck and felt a cold breeze blow through my hair. I hurried inside the Diner with my brother, sister, Mom, and Dad close behind.
Inside the Diner, we ordered pancakes, hot chocolate, and toast. We colored while we waited for our food and talked in the warm atmosphere. When the waiter arrived with our breakfast we ate and left with full stomachs. We shopped at the White Market, a local grocery store, before driving over to Kirby Mountain. We unloaded our suitcases and sleeping bags from the truck and loaded up the sleigh. We made several trips up the mountain on snowmobiles to get all our gear into the cabin. Ready for a weekend of adventure, we entered the cabin’s wooden doors. We warmed up Bertha, our wood stove, and turned on the gaslights. Finally, we rolled out our sleeping bags and fell asleep. “Good night,” everyone murmured before nodding off to sleep.
The next day I woke up to the sound of my dad putting wood in Bertha. His shadow cast onto the ceiling while he closed Bertha with a small clang. I looked at the ceiling and saw the strange patterns created from the way the wood was cut. Ducks and aliens and other designs seemed to form like looking up at clouds on a summer day. My feet felt as if icicles hung from them. I slid out of bed and stuck my feet in my slippers. I greeted my Dad with a “good morning,” and sat down in front of the wood stove after sleeping in a non-heated room all night.
After everyone woke up, we had breakfast and played cards. Rummy 500 and Spit are two of my favorite card games. My sister, Michelle, suggested we play Slaps. When the sun rose over the horizon completely, we put on our snowsuits and went outside to sled. “I’ll take the black sled,” Nick said and proceeded to lift it off the hook it hung from and started down the mountain. My sled started sliding down the hill behind me. My brother said “Dude, look. Pay attention.” He pointed behind me. I turned around and ran to catch up with my runaway sled. I swear I heard him murmur under his breath, but I decided not to start a fight by commenting on that. I recovered my sled and sat down in it. Then, I pushed off with my hands and began sliding down the icy, snow covered mountain. At the first turn, I reached down for the ropes. They disappeared! Uh-oh, I thought. I noticed part of the rope sticking out of the bottom of the sled. I dug my foot into the snow. It didn’t stop but, luckily, the sled turned. I reached down to try to regain the ropes. I looked up and saw the second turn on the hill. I started to bail but I hit a mound of frozen mud and flew 5 feet in the air! Unlucky for me, trees grow on mountains. I slammed into a tree and fell to the ground while my sled ricocheted off of a rock and continued to slide down the path. My head lay on a fallen tree. I felt like chains held me down because of the intense cold. I tried to get up, but my limbs ached. Soon, my dad realized that I was taking an unusually long time and came to my rescue. Ever since, I try to pay more attention and be more aware of my surroundings (unlike then), not only when I’m sledding, but in other events and for different reasons.