Winner of the Log Home Essay Contest |
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Winner of the Log Home Essay Contest
Earlier this year, we asked you to share what log homes mean to you. This year we offer our congratulations to Ellen Itzler of Fort Lauderdale, Florida, whose tale of a family's trip into the great outdoors cracked us up.
Earlier this year, we asked you to share with us what log homes mean to you. We knew we'd get hundreds of entries, but we had no idea just how beautiful, unique and heartfelt your stories would be. So many of your essays moved us that it was nearly impossible to choose a winner. In fact, it took us weeks to narrow down your submissions to one hundred ... fifty ... ten ... and finally one. This year we offer our congratulations to Ellen Itzler of Fort Lauderdale, Florida, whose tale of a family's trip into the great outdoors cracked us up. We're happy to present Ellen and three guests with our grand prize: A four-day, three-night stay at Idaho's beautiful Tamarack Resort, complete with an activity package, plus $400 to enjoy while she's there.Still, Ellen's isn't the only story worth sharing. We want to also acknowledge the tales of our two runners-up (each has his/her choice of a T-shirt or mug, courtesy of our Log & Timber Home Bookstore), printed here after the grand prize winner.
GRAND PRIZE WINNER
Ellen Itzler
Fort Lauderdale, FL
UPTOWN GIRLS
My husband is a "FOG" (Father of Only Girls, ages 6, 13, and 16). He is surrounded, at all times, with clothes, makeup, accessories and lots of giggling. Our girls love to dress in pink, paint their rooms lime green and choose the color of their nail polish based on their mood. It's no wonder he daydreams of sitting on the front porch of a log home, enjoying the peace and quiet; taking the world in from a guy's perspective. As a kid, I also loved the outdoors. I camped with the Girl Scouts, got dirty and cooked meals over a hand-built fire. I drank from mountain streams and slept in 30-degree weather with nothing to protect me but a flimsy sleeping bag. But, within the span of one generation, we've managed to raise girls whose idea of "roughing it" is sleeping on a blow-up mattress in our carpeted and well-stocked playroom.
With that said, we've tried on several occasions to impart some touchy-feely with the country, but without much success. First, we rented a canoe and took off to the great unknown, but in less than two minutes, we'd already taken a wrong turn. The stream started to narrow around us, the thick branches blocking our path. As we continued to paddle, I realized that every time we brushed the foliage, at least one or two spiders would fall into our canoe. The first few spiders went unnoticed—the kids were too busy questioning our course. But, despite the narrowing river, we kept trucking deeper and deeper. With the number of spiders now outnumbering the passengers in the canoe, the girls took notice. They sprang up and began to dance wildly, legs kicking in all directions, looking like a bad imitation of the Rockettes. Their father, very Paul Bunyan-like with his wooden paddle, sprang into action, swiping spiders out of the boat as fast as he could. But for every spider that went overboard, two more landed at the girls' feet.
We managed to paddle back to the fork and head downstream. Calm was restored and all was right with the world for an entire ten minutes. That is, until the gators started to appear. At that point, the river had a strong current, so there was no chance of turning back. I was able to convince the girls that the first three gators were actually oversized turtles (hah!), but the jig was up when a 7-foot gator, tired of sunning itself, dove into the water and brushed its back against the underside of our canoe, bumping its tail with a "clunk" against the aluminum undercarriage. Suddenly, spiders didn't seem like such a big deal. Our city girls were once again out of control—we were caught between a sea of gators and earsplitting screams.
Still optimistic, we tried again the following year. But, without warning, a casual bike ride through backcountry roads turned into another episode of animals gone wrong. As we were riding along, enjoying the view and tranquility, a squirrel scampered onto the road and headed straight for our oldest daughter's bike. The squirrel jumped, trying to avoid the inevitable collision, but only leapt far enough to land on her foot instead. She started shaking her leg, desperately trying to rid herself of the animal, but the frightened squirrel's claws only clenched tighter around her shoe. She finally managed to kick the squirrel loose, throwing it in the rotating pedals. After it took a few spins through the gearing, it bounced off her other leg and fell onto the road, a little stunned but unhurt. After that, our daughter spent the rest of the ride with both eyes glued to the scenery, positive that the squirrel's family was coming back to seek revenge.
Continuing to be hopeful, we visited a small western town the following summer. On the second day, while enjoying our breakfast, a mother bear and her cub lumbered by, no more than 5 feet from were we sat. The girls leaped from their chairs and ran faster than a wildfire in a dry forest. At that point, I was half expecting Dorothy and Toto to jump out at any moment and serenade us with "Lions and Tigers and Bears—Oh My." So, despite our love of the outdoors, I think we could use a little professional assistance. Perhaps what our daughters need to turn themselves from city girls into tree huggers is a log home vacation in the mountains so that maybe, just maybe, my husband can finally declare himself, not just a "FOG," but the new proud parent of three "LOGs"
—Ladies of the Great outdoors!
SECOND PLACE
Guek Kiel
Granada Hills, CA
MOMENT IN TIME
When I see pictures of a log home I'm reminded of my happy childhood, growing up in Malaysia. In 1943, my parents decided they needed to build a home of their own, so they searched an area where they were told that one could build a house on any piece of property that didn't appear to be owned by anyone. Soon they found a little strip of vacant land and my father brought his father and three brothers to the property. Armed with axes, they chopped down the nearby trees and cut them into pieces with similar dimensions. Of course, in a hot climate like Malaysia, there was no need to have thick logs; 2 inches of wooden planks would suffice. And being that there was no such thing as laying a foundation before building the house, one could only use light-weight tin sheets for the roof, so the roof wouldn't collapse.
Years later, my mother told me how the house started out as a small one room building but gradually, as my family grew, my parents would add to the original structure. By the time I was born, the house had six rooms and the front had been converted into a little shop where my parents sold goods like rice, flour, beans, kerosene and coconuts. I must have been about seven when my father added the final part to the house—a 6-by-25-foot building that we used as a storage facility.
I remember that as a child, I wasn't to lean against the house (unless I didn't mind getting splinters) since only the planks inside the house were sanded. The exterior planks in the older section of the house didn't have as many splinters, since over the years, the weather kind of smoothed them away. We also learned to never play loud music, as the whole house would reverberate. I remember my brothers and our neighbor's boys climbing onto a nearby guava tree and then jumping onto the tin roofs and screaming with pain because they were shoeless and the tin roofs were hot. To this day, when I come across any articles about the Broadway show "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" I can't help but smile.
Both my parents have since passed away. Two of my brothers and one sister have also passed on, but when I see pictures of log houses, I remember a time when we all were together. The shape and sizes of the logs used in log cabins remind me of the uneven, rough wooden planks that made up the loving, slightly leaning home I grew up in.
THIRD PLACE
Lawrence Jackson
Warren, PA
A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS
I built my log lodge three years ago, in the mountains near Warren, Pennsylvania. Even though my wife and I were retired, I wanted it to be large enough for our whole family to visit on holidays. And last year, my wish came true.
In late August, my daughter who lives in Virginia sent an e-mail that asked what my wife and I wanted for Christmas. (She's the type of person that gets most of her shopping done before Thanksgiving.) I responded that I wanted and old-fashioned Christmas at the lodge, with a little snow, good sledding, outdoor fires, Christmas music, Mom's homemade cookies and lots of games, including street hockey on the driveway and touch foot ball in the backyard. I also wanted the family in church together, good times, great laughter, great memories and a toboggan.
In early November, UPS delivered a box that looked to be the size of a sled. Around that time we also found out that our other daughter and her husband had bought tickets to Cleveland and were coming to the lodge for ten days at Christmas. In early December, our daughter from Virginia told us that she, her husband, two dogs and mother-in-law would also be up for the holidays. Soon, my son also started to talk about coming up for a couple days with his fiancé.
In the mountains east of Lake Erie, December can be depressing due to lots of snow and many days of clouds. But last year, that wasn't the case. My wife and I went out and cut two Christmas trees, a 9-foot white spruce that went in the great room and a 7-foot white pine that went on the screened porch. We also put up an artificial tree downstairs in the recreation room. My wife was happily singing Christmas songs as she baked cookies. I put small white twinkling lights outside on the house railings and small spruce trees we had planted three years ago. My wife made four beautiful wreaths that we hung on the house and garage and several garlands for over the French doors. We wrapped and made presents. It was our hope that we could create an old-fashioned Christmas for our family.
Finally we were ready and we took the Jeep to Cleveland to pick up our daughter and son in-law. The next day, my other daughter and her family came up to the lodge from Virginia. Finally my son and his fiancé got there. As each carload arrived, we put another leaf in the table as our family of two swelled to nine and two dogs. It was fun to have all of us together. We played street hockey and touch football in the snow. Sledding was kept interesting by a few close calls as trees popped up in front of a very fast inner tube type sled. We all enjoyed playing with the pups in the recreation room and we got a laugh as one climbed on a table to get a ball he couldn't reach. Our children made a snow sculpture and had a few campfires. The tree with all the presents looked great. We went to church and when we came out it was snowing lightly. Finally, on Christmas day, the presents and dinner we shared together was what I had envisioned: an old fashioned family Christmas at my lodge that will always be in our memories.
Honorable Mentions
When I think about what a log home means to me, I am taken back 34 years to when I was in the 3rd grade. Our assignment at the time was to construct a miniature model of the type of home we envisioned ourselves living in when we grew up. Without hesitation, I immediately went to work gathering twigs, rocks, moss and yes, tiny toy logs to begin my dream house. After much hard work and much wood glue, I proudly admit that I won third place and the only comment from my teacher was that perhaps my logs were too big. "Never!" I exclaimed. She obviously had no prior experience with beautiful, chalet-style, big-log homes.
Still dreaming big at age 35, I didn't lose hope that one day my little model, which is still somewhere in my folk's attic, would somehow become a reality. Then it happened. By luck, I found a piece of property in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley of Virginia and made plans to put my log home smack dab in the middle of 88 acres, filled with gorgeous hills, valleys, mountains and streams.
The magazines and pictures that I had collected over the years were all pulled together and put in a stack in the middle of my rented rambler house and I went to work. Log sizes, shapes, colors, oh my! Where to start? It was completely overwhelming, but overwhelmingly enjoyable. I found myself talking, eating, sleeping, dreaming log homes, but not ever truly believing that it was really happening until the four truck loads of beautiful cedar logs were delivered to my site in early September.
As the walls went up, my dream was finally coming true. The twigs that I had collected 34 years ago became my deck railings and stair railings. The rocks became my great room and master bedroom fireplaces. The moss grew into a beautiful yard and mountain surroundings and the tiny logs, well, you know what they became.
As I look back and remember what that elementary assignment meant to me, I have to be so grateful to that teacher for even thinking of such a project. At 10 I lived in an old farmhouse in the country that predated the civil war. It was charming and filled with much love, but it was nothing like what I live in today. I can't say that I was predestined to live in a log home, but I can say that I started dreaming about it at an early age.
They say that home is where your heart is and I know mine is beating strong in every one of those logs that shelter me and keep me cozy.
—Constance Burch
My first memory of a log home is from many years ago. A lady that I was working with told the story of how she and her husband had always wanted to build a log home. She explained that when her husband had told her mother-in-law that they were going to build a log home, the mother-in-law was burst into tears and cried, "Your father and I have spent our entire lives trying to give our children a better life and now after all that we have given you, you want to live in a log home!"
My friend and I, amused by the comment, created scenarios of things that could be done, she suggested that the next time that her husband and his mother were on the phone she would start screaming "TIMBER! Watch out!' in the background. And we decided that her attire at all family events should now consist of flannel shirts, jeans and hiking boots to fufill her mountain-woman image.
Of course the mother-in-law had no idea that log homes could be very luxurious and I must say that, until that point, I had never been totally aware of their beauty. I started investigating log homes and since then I have seen many different styles and designs. I love the outside appeal of the homes and the inside comfort.
Last summer I was in North Carolina for several weeks and I spent a lot of time driving through the different mountain areas. I saw gorgeous log homes nestled alone in the mountains. I also saw gorgeous neighborhoods that were filled with log home residences. Whether large or small, they all exuded a sense of peace and tranquility. They were a natural extension of the mountains' beauty. I would love to have a log home there. I can envision stepping out on the back deck of my home, hearing the music of a rustling river and smelling the pure mountain air. My children would love experiencing the awesomeness of nature and would thrive in the freedom of the outdoors. On some days we would hike, on some days we would fish, on some days we would explore the gem mines and on some days we would stay at home and relax.
Many people say that there is magic in the mountains. I think that part of the magic is the calm inner feeling that you usually get when you're there. The home would be an oasis of happiness, providing a much-needed outlet from the hustle and bustle of daily life. And if I ever had the chance to own such a piece of paradise, I would be forever grateful for the opportunity. I'd want others to share my home so that they could also enjoy my good fortune and one day, probably when no one else was around, I would stand near the house and at the top of my voice scream "TIMBER!" just for the fun of it.
—Aleta Zeiler
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Subscribe You may call us if you prefer not to order online: 800-234-8496 If you are not in the continental U.S. please call 386-447-2398 (International).
You can also write to: |