For years I’ve had this idea in the back of my mind. I’ve always loved the USFS fire towers, that were often built by the WPA in the first half the the 20th century. One of my favorite I have visited several times in my wanderings in the West is the Devil’s Head tower in Colorado. It is still manned by a man named Bill, who has always entertained my questions about living and working what I consider to the best “office” I have ever seen.
It was always a goal to have my own version of a place where time stopped, the world disconnected, and in the quiet, time could be found for sincere thought, and perhaps, conversation or silence could flourish. Thoreau had this. So did Twain, and Muir called his, his “scribble den“. I am not in that caliber accomplished men, but I am also not beneath aiming to be.
It won’t have electric. It might have a cistern at the downspout, but no plumbing. To be sure of the feeling of being unplugged from the grid, it will be high up in the canopy of old growth hardwood and Hemlock trees overlooking Loch Loafin’, the family lake in the Hocking Hills. When it is done, it will be a place for Claire, myself, and our family to hideout from all the conveniences and connectivity we have all worked so hard to achieve, and now, can hardly escape.
When my grandfather built the cabin that is at the heart of our land, it too had no plumbing, and very little in way of any comforts as we would know them today – and all the charm and authenticity that often is in it’s place. Recently, my mother was reminiscing about her childhood there, and chided me “you don’t remember that, it was all different by the time you came along”. She’s right. I had it easy. But I also missed out. How could I know about that? Electric came about the time I was born a well was dug and a kitchen with a refrigerator and bathroom were added. It no doubt added great enjoyment, but I’ll stop short of saying an absolute improvement. I can’t appreciate what I have because my parents, and grandparents – with their best intentions – worked hard to never let me experience it. Therein lies the paradox. With every gain is a somewhere a loss. For me, this is a process of seeking what is behind me. Not a regression, not a luddite’s folly, but a very real way to connect with my family, by disconnecting with what they have worked hard to give me. Perhaps this project is a way to live like my grandfather, like all those men, and see what my mother saw when the sun goes down; to know what they knew. A place for sincere thought, and I hope some conversation and storytelling more valuable than a 4G network and HBO could ever offer.
Several friends of my father’s and me have been in on my plans for a while, and as we have conspired, the idea took shape. After several conversations and sketches over the past months, my dad’s buddy Jim sent me the drawing above, and Jeff, our good neighbor up the hill, put in some valuable ideas (and the generator that powered the whole operation so far). Dave Dicken and his brother Michael are who have made it happen, and it was all led by my father, who has gotten behind this idea and helped me get it off the ground – literally.
This is the first phase. In the next, we’ll build a 16’x16′ cabin into the top of the tower, with four walls of glass, just like the great fire-lookout towers out in the wilderness. This one won’t be for looking out to find fires as much as it will be for looking inward – and sometimes, looking back.
*This thing has not been named. A tree house, or a tower. It is a bit of both, and a hideout. My mother’s idea is “Hylo’s Hideout”. That one is not bad. My dad and Jim want to call it my “sugar shack”. That one is not good. Perhaps we’ll settle on a name by the time the roof is on.
