It is easy to persevere when life is full of sunbeams and rainbows. Life is challenging when boots are stuck in the muck of reality accompanied by a mind that is a muddled mess.

As any good mixologist knows, muddling is the process of gently crushing ingredients to release their true essence. It balances flavors, adds complexity and aromatics that heightens the experience.

If only I could learn to appreciate life muddling in the same way.

The cabin project is approaching its fifth anniversary this autumn. Countless self-doubt buttons have been pushed, marital relations strained, and nerves frayed beyond repair some days. It is enough to have this girl fantasizing about:

It has been tough to differentiate between “good” difficulties (inherent and normal to this scope of project) and “bad juju” (time to consult an exorcist and get the hell outta Dodge).

Case in Point: Dave and the 5-Ton Truck

Last spring, a full load of of materials needed delivering to the cabin including a woodstove, patio door and pallets of tile and cement boards. Our neighbor dropped by to ask if we had sold our home and were moving. She took this photo:

Rumi was spending the weekend at daycare so was not weaving in and out of our legs as we tried to wrangle heavy, bulky objects onto the truck.

Before the story progresses any further, I need to point out that Dave is a safety conscious guy (which has often driven me nuts). He does nothing without checking and double checking his facts, order of operation, and does not take unnecessary risks. Thus, our load was tied down expertly and the best route to the cabin mapped out with precision.

The drive to the property was stressful. Although Dave has his Class D license, it had been a while since he had maneuvered a truck of this size. As we drove up our driveway and parked at the top of the slope, we sighed with relief. Our day was far from over as we needed to remove the materials from the truck and into the garage before dark.

I had just exited the truck and was opening the RV to set up camp when all hell broke loose. The truck’s parking brake (which is a necessity to secure this type of truck) had failed. It careened down our driveway, crossed the road, and was stopped by a grove of trees that line our neighbor’s property. Otherwise it would have continued through their property and into the lake.

There are rare moments when time stops. As I heard the carnage, I was convinced I would find Dave crushed underneath the wheels. Which would be all my fault. I had bought the property. I had gotten us into this entire muddled mess. It is amazing what can fly through your mind in mere seconds.

I ran down, not wanting to see what awaited.

But there was Dave, getting up from the front lawn.

“FUCK!!!!” he bellowed while brushing himself off.

The most beautiful sound in the whole world. Relief flooded in and kick-started my heart.

In a nutshell: In the short time it had taken me to walk to the RV, Dave had barely exited the driver’s side when the parking brake failed, the open door smashed into his chest causing him to barrel roll onto the front lawn and safely out of the path of the runaway truck.

In a daze we approached the truck, still rocking from the impact, driver’s door hanging off its hinges, glass everywhere. Thoughts rushed in – had anyone been walking on the road? was anyone hurt? had we hit anything? Negative. Thank our guardian angels.

Our next challenge was to think logically despite our shock on how to proceed next. We had no other vehicle there, the truck needed to be towed but we still had all of our building materials in the back. Dave was able to drive it onto a flat surface near the garage, and we proceeded to unload. I cried intermittently. Dave teared up too, both of us shaken to a new level. I don’t know how we managed to move but we did, bewildered that not even one piece of tile was broken. We talked through each decision, even steps as simple as how we were going to move the pallet jack. It kept us sane and safe, and working together.

We called for a tow truck through the emergency line of the rental agency. No wifi at the cabin, so it meant trekking up the road 2 km to get a signal. We made that journey about 5 times to coordinate with the towing company.

Our day finally ended around 1am. Dave hitched a ride with the tow truck operator into town and drove back to the cabin in my car.

Ominous Sign or Important Lesson?

The property has tested our resolve and kicked our butts in various forms but never like a runaway 5-ton truck. It made us truly question if this was meant to be. Was it beyond our scope of capability? Or was this another lesson to be painfully learned? The cabin has been good at posing those.

In the end, we decided that this was a hell of a good wake-up call. We have implemented some changes:

• took advantage of Bell Fibe in the area and installed fibre internet
• decided to never take just one vehicle to the cabin
• created an improved safety plan by talking through all projects beforehand to spot potential issues and how we would handle them
• updated first aid credentials and purchased tourniquets and other (interim) life-saving items.
• agreed to stop working when we are tired or not thinking clearly
• realized that nothing can be taken for granted, luck moves in both directions and needs to be respected
• finally, even with the above put in place, recognize that control is an illusion

Weeks later, Dave asked if I had caught his spectacular acrobatic rolls onto the lawn. A good sign that he was healing from the experience. I hope to never see Dave forced to barrel roll out the way of a runaway truck.

After 20 years of marriage (anniversary this autumn), this event was also a reminder that despite many differences, we make a pretty good team. As long as one of us is not crushed beyond repair, we can prop each other up to keep on truckin’.

Although I wish that all muddles be contained to lovely glass vessels with delicious spirits and herbs, that is not the point of life. Resiliency is gained through each muddled step. Progress on the cabin will be slow and steady. We have to honor the pace that is being dictated.

This post is dedicated to our mom, who passed away in January, 2024. As is the human experience, she faced challenges in her life and did the best she could. I learned the toughest lessons of my life from her, for which I am grateful. She would be proud of us for continuing to muddle forward.