Our Tiny Cabin Build

[Gary O]

Good thoughts

I made a poster for a group I’m with;


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unfortunately, making posters has become a bit of an obsession for me;

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[hunter63]

Good ones.....

Here is a pic of the old Shasta, Taj ma shed, blue room....land '89, Shasta 1990, shed '91, and blue room '92
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Amish built cabin....on the road....
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Cabin "The Place" 2005

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[cabingal4]

hunter63 -u have a wonderful place.
love it all.
very nice.

[hunter63]

Thanks.....Never done....LOL
Interesting to note, cabin came by truck....makes it a mobile home, so building codes don't apply.
Meaning, no permit, (got one anyway for a 16'X40" building)....and ....I can and did all my own electrical (inspected and OK'd) and plumbing, and interior work.

[cabingal4]

the cabins never done.
well i love the one little cabin ...its the one that is first on the first photo.
its blue and is sooo cute.
no permit for that cabin?the log cabin?wow.
love this.our cabin is on skids .
gosh.u have done really well.to do your own electrical,plumbing and interior work.its a beautiful place.

[hunter63]

That's a pop up camper, roof cranks up folds and lock in...then the side wall tip up....and latch.
Bought it for $200 bucks, roof was bad.....so set it up permanent, and roofed it with plywood and rolled roofing...actually twice now, stuff doesn't last long.

Figured where could I find a shed, .....that had bunks, stove, sink, furnace, ice box and wired for electric ....and portable...(on wheels)...for $200 bucks.

Used it as a guest house,..... then shed and still used for storage........

The old Shasta trailer has been hauled off ...I gave it away to a sorta homeless guy, ....that was living in a blue bus, that got flooded...then a yurt made of blue tarps and large billboard canvas.
I needed the room for a tractor shed.

The shed with lean-to's was built by the local high school kids.....school is about a mile away....but across the river...that was quite a story as well.

Gary O....I betting you have many stories and adventures as well........and that is half the fun

[Gary O]

Stories?

Moi?


Dawgs

I have some fond thoughts of our beagle, Joey.
Gotta say, he was my dog, even though he was meant for the boys.
Yeah, he was my deer dog.
Man, he could flush ‘em out.
The only thing is, I could never get him to run ‘em to me.
Oh, he could run ‘em by me.
On the dead run, hopping, leaping galloping.
So, we mostly just got our exercise. All three of us.

We had this neighbor lady, my wife’s friend.
Smug.
She was the neighborhood pre-google era self-proclaimed font of all info ever known.
Had that all knowing, smirky smug smile when you argued with her, even when she was obviously in over her head.

I may have actually hated her.

She was a churchy.
Always pressing my lady to ‘come, enjoy the wonderfulness of salvation’.

Yeah, that lady irritated the hell outta me.

There was that one time, however, that I most enjoyed.

She was in our front yard, all hunkered down, lettin’ Joey lick her face.
Man, he was goin’ at it, didn’t miss a spot.

‘Uh, that dog has some peculiar habits, you might reconsider him licking yer face.’

‘Oh, dogs have the cleanest of mouths, and he loves me.’

(OK, I won’t mention him just now gobbling up his own vomit from over indulging in yer compost pile, then crapping and dining on that).
‘Yeah, he really likes you. Boy, you sure have a way with animals.’

‘ I was raised on a farm.’

‘Yes, I can see that. Surely can.’

Joey was probably the smartest dog I ever had.
Not bring me my slippers smart, but he had a logic about him.

I’ve never really had a dumb dog.
Just some that didn’t seem to have much of a plan.



I have writ a passel of short stories, some in books.




Mac and Velma’s

Back in the ‘70s,
….before ‘coffee shops’,
before anyone knew what a Starbucks was,
a little cafe sat at the edge of hwy 30, between Linnton and St Johns, smack dab in the middle of Portland’s northwest industrial section of mostly huge tanks of gas, diesel and oil.
They just opened for breakfast, closing at around 11 AM.

Mac was a long retired Marine.
Grey hair in a crew cut, high and tight.
A tattoo on his forearm, not ones like today, just a simple anchor.
Velma was the chief cook and bottle washer.
Didn’t see her much, just heard her, bangin’ pots and pans, flippin’ hotcakes.
Mac was the entertainer and pourer of coffee.
Always wiping his hands on the little bar towel tied to the front of his white apron.
White short sleeve shirt.
Stiff collar.
The tiny place was always spick and span.
Simple.
Mostly white and chrome.
A dozen red stools at the wooden counter.
Three padded booths.

‘There he is, last of the all time greats!’ was his typical greeting of a trucker that pulled his tanker rig into the gravel parking lot.

Of a cold morning, after working all night, I’d stop there, needing a shot of joe for the 30 bleary miles to the house.

The coffee was always good.
Back when coffee was just coffee.
They call it ‘house brew’ now.

Mac would yard a plain cake donut outta the glass lidded pedestal container for me with his dinner plate sized hand.
‘How ya doin’ kid?’
I was not an all time great.
Truckers, gnarly truckers, with gravel for voices, and road maps for faces, they were the all time greats.

The donut was not sweet, but a saccharine contrast to the java.
I’d listen to Mac’s snappy patter with the truckers.
Sardonic retorts to Mac’s rhetoric was pure entertainment.
Everyone looked forward to the upbeat boost Mac would give them.
It was a good start to another day.

I drove by that spot not long ago.

The little café is gone.

Mac and Velma may very well have taken it with them.

Last of the all time greats.





.....wait, you might mean cabin stories.......I got summa those too.
Maybe after my little pictorial is finished

[1stimestar]

Stories?

Moi?


Dawgs

I have some fond thoughts of our beagle, Joey.
Gotta say, he was my dog, even though he was meant for the boys.
Yeah, he was my deer dog.
Man, he could flush ‘em out.
The only thing is, I could never get him to run ‘em to me.
Oh, he could run ‘em by me.
On the dead run, hopping, leaping galloping.
So, we mostly just got our exercise. All three of us.

We had this neighbor lady, my wife’s friend.
Smug.
She was the neighborhood pre-google era self-proclaimed font of all info ever known.
Had that all knowing, smirky smug smile when you argued with her, even when she was obviously in over her head.

I may have actually hated her.

She was a churchy.
Always pressing my lady to ‘come, enjoy the wonderfulness of salvation’.

Yeah, that lady irritated the hell outta me.

There was that one time, however, that I most enjoyed.

She was in our front yard, all hunkered down, lettin’ Joey lick her face.
Man, he was goin’ at it, didn’t miss a spot.

‘Uh, that dog has some peculiar habits, you might reconsider him licking yer face.’

‘Oh, dogs have the cleanest of mouths, and he loves me.’

(OK, I won’t mention him just now gobbling up his own vomit from over indulging in yer compost pile, then crapping and dining on that).
‘Yeah, he really likes you. Boy, you sure have a way with animals.’

‘ I was raised on a farm.’

‘Yes, I can see that. Surely can.’

Joey was probably the smartest dog I ever had.
Not bring me my slippers smart, but he had a logic about him.

I’ve never really had a dumb dog.
Just some that didn’t seem to have much of a plan.



I have writ a passel of short stories, some in books.




Mac and Velma’s

Back in the ‘70s,
….before ‘coffee shops’,
before anyone knew what a Starbucks was,
a little cafe sat at the edge of hwy 30, between Linnton and St Johns, smack dab in the middle of Portland’s northwest industrial section of mostly huge tanks of gas, diesel and oil.
They just opened for breakfast, closing at around 11 AM.

Mac was a long retired Marine.
Grey hair in a crew cut, high and tight.
A tattoo on his forearm, not ones like today, just a simple anchor.
Velma was the chief cook and bottle washer.
Didn’t see her much, just heard her, bangin’ pots and pans, flippin’ hotcakes.
Mac was the entertainer and pourer of coffee.
Always wiping his hands on the little bar towel tied to the front of his white apron.
White short sleeve shirt.
Stiff collar.
The tiny place was always spick and span.
Simple.
Mostly white and chrome.
A dozen red stools at the wooden counter.
Three padded booths.

‘There he is, last of the all time greats!’ was his typical greeting of a trucker that pulled his tanker rig into the gravel parking lot.

Of a cold morning, after working all night, I’d stop there, needing a shot of joe for the 30 bleary miles to the house.

The coffee was always good.
Back when coffee was just coffee.
They call it ‘house brew’ now.

Mac would yard a plain cake donut outta the glass lidded pedestal container for me with his dinner plate sized hand.
‘How ya doin’ kid?’
I was not an all time great.
Truckers, gnarly truckers, with gravel for voices, and road maps for faces, they were the all time greats.

The donut was not sweet, but a saccharine contrast to the java.
I’d listen to Mac’s snappy patter with the truckers.
Sardonic retorts to Mac’s rhetoric was pure entertainment.
Everyone looked forward to the upbeat boost Mac would give them.
It was a good start to another day.

I drove by that spot not long ago.

The little café is gone.

Mac and Velma may very well have taken it with them.

Last of the all time greats.





.....wait, you might mean cabin stories.......I got summa those too.
Maybe after my little pictorial is finished

Oh definite reps for that one.

[Gary O]

Oh definite reps for that one.

Forgive me, but not quite followin’ ya, 1sti.
I’m old, I don’t get let out much.
You’ll hafta explain (please)

[Gary O]

continuing the pics to present

Penned a few weeks ago;



Back from the cabin.
Got the floor down.
Tired
Sore
Hurt
Old
I hurt myself in so many places, I got no more places that don't.

But.....my juices are gacked.

Can't wait to get back there.

Man, when we got done leveling, truing, layin' down timbers, and I stepped back; a rush of design ideas went berserk in my head.

I really can't wait to get back there.

I'll tell ya'll one thing.
My woman is either as much of a man as I, or I'm as much of a woman as she, 'cause she worked just as hard...maybe harder...OK..OK...she worked harder.
But
She couldn't match me in the ***** and moan dept.

It snowed a bit one night.


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Heh, around midnight a bobcat jumped onto our front room roof from a tree, and musta had a peek or two thru the big window.
Heard it plop on the ground outside the door and scamper off.
Asked my woman if she'd just come back from the poophaus....no.
In the dim of the early morn I took a bleary gander out the kitchen window, and there it was....just slowly walkin' away.
Purdy in the snow.
Wish I'd had the camera handy just then.
Wunner if it watched me from the roof at least one of the three times I stumbled out in my undies to pee that night.
If so, I prolly gave it indigestion.

Saw five mighty nice deer when we were drivin' in.
And on the way home, 'bout 2-3 miles from the cabin, we watched a badger scurry across the road. My first badger sighting, ever.

I really can't wait to get back there.


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[Gary O]

We get morning sunrise shots.
I like this one a lot. Kinda Kinkade -ish
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[hunter63]

We get morning sunrise shots.
I like this one a lot. Kinda Kinkade -ish
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Absolutely gorgeous....Thanks for posting.

I knew there was a story of two in this thread........
You can't do a project like this with out the people, the up and downs and everything else that makes it worth while.

Some time my comfort in those hurts are just, "if it hurts, it still works"

[hunter63]

Forgive me, but not quite followin’ ya, 1sti.
I’m old, I don’t get let out much.
You’ll hafta explain (please)

Little star down by the "Blog this post" is a "Reputation trigger"....enough people give you Rep on any post...you will end up with more green marks under your name.

Gave you one for the last winter pic.

When you see a notification at the top of the page under settings will tell you how many.....

This thread explains it.
http://www.wilderness-survival.net/f...out-Reputation

[Gary O]

OK, progress;

The 2nd cabin is gonna be our bedroom.
I plan to lay down a deck between the cabins.
And maybe put in a homebuilt hot tub in the middle of the deck.

And once everything is up, I’ll run an alley roof from the kitchen to the back of the bedroom.

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(I built the French doors our of 2x2 cedar)
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camo tarp makes it kinda cool inside
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[Gary O]

Moving the bed to the new shack sure cleared out the main cabin;
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and that brings us up to the present

[Gary O]

a note

Making the French doors.

Subtle suggestion; DO NOT MAKE FRENCH DOORS!!!!

Seemed like a simple enough project.......heh heh heh.

For, oh, say 60 of the 65 years I've been in existence, I've whittled/butchered/cobbled/hewn/chopped/gouged/disfigured and outright mutilated wood.

I tend to turn most my projects into timed weekend warrior events.
These races typically start when I pull in the drive Friday afternoon and end late Sunday evening...prone, weeping, cutting myself.
I figger that's why there are five week days.
Convalescence.
On any given Saturday morning, at 3AM, I can be found stumbling around, holding a 17th cup of coffee in my quavering hand, looking for.....something....oh, yeah, my try square......oh well, I'll jus zip a shade off the ol' edge.
......well, crap.
Oh, heeeeere's my try square.
No worries, Home Dopey opens in three hours.
Think I'll make another pot of coffee.

Note to readers; if one maintains hurry mode, one can gain much experience in repair mode, which comes directly after scurry mode, but only after the WTF!!??? (discovery) and wailing modes.
But I do love French doors, and my imagination puts me and cabi waking up every morning to a glorious forested vista, with shards of sun rays beaming into the cabin.

[hunter63]

I can relate.....The Friday afternoon, beat feet 200 miles and try to get a start, days...

Being in "retired mode" now, and in retrospect, I look back to the plumbing days...(worked for a Mechanical Contractor, but as a HVAC Tech) so it was too much of a stretch...and the Master Plumber would look over my plans and make suggestions....I may very well be farther ahead....having a local (out there) friend just do it for me......

When I consider the time, materials, crawling around under the house.......and the re-do's.....for several weekends....making sure you didn't have to go to town for some forgotten items....yeah a toss up.
But when a turd floats.... I know every angle fitting and vent....have the scratch's and sore spots and invented cuss words....to prove it......I know it's MINE>

[Gary O]

Little star down by the "Blog this post" is a "Reputation trigger"....enough people give you Rep on any post...you will end up with more green marks under your name.

Gave you one for the last winter pic.

When you see a notification at the top of the page under settings will tell you how many.....

This thread explains it.
http://www.wilderness-survival.net/f...out-Reputation

Hunter, you are rapidly becoming my personal font of info in regard to my ability to get around this forum, aaand in regard to my plans for our little patch of pumice.
Now, I’d really like to see more pics of that gorgeous cabin, and a bit more verbiage in regard to square footage and amenities…..

Soon (no pressure)

[hunter63]

Can do.....didn't want to steal your thunder....your cabin, Your thread.
I will just start a thread with details.....and more pic's.....as I have kinda saved them over the years....and have psoted some of the pic's but not all together, hear, I don't think.

[Gary O]

Excellent
I'm on it