November 2025

The Log Cabin

I grew up in a log cabin, hand built by my parents, located in the forests of Northern Washington. There, we live with the land, borrowing and giving in return.

The forrest reclaims my father’s old truck.

A ladder used for house repairs rests in a cedar grove, shrouded by friendly branches. Cedars are native to Washington, a vital part of the eco system.

My bedroom window. I am an only child, and grew up in this room and these woods. Below the window, the soil box where I first learned to garden is winter barren. In a few months, this box will be overflowing with the bleeding hearts I planted sixteen years ago.

B&W film photography

Before we lived here, this land was logging land. Maple trees are non native, distinguished by their lack of greenery in the winter. They grow tall, fast, producing more lumbar and robbing the native trees of light. They are favored by the logging industry and were once planted throughout the land. Here, a Maple branch is reflected in a puddle, climbing skyward to steal valuable light.

Taken inside what my family has dubbed the “guard shack.”

Building materials await their next project. My father’s most recent projects include a pizza oven and art studio.

A trail I have walked since I took my first step. The forrest floor is blanketed in moss, the Cedar trees dripping with lichen. The sword fern located in the bottom left corner of this image is the most effective remedy for a nettle sting.

Smoke rises from what we call “the cabana,” where my father is finishing up construction on a pizza oven. returning home from a walk in the woods, the sight of the log cabin promises a hearty fireplace and wool blanket.