Dave has committed to the project in writing and we are now the proud official owners of 4.3 acres, a “hunt camp”, a leaning tower of Pisa outhouse and various junk piles on a peaceful private road across from a lovely little lake.

It is now late October and at first glance, the property is bathed in an autumnal glow of light and shadow. The shadows darken as we take measurements, poke behind the walls and dig deeper into what will be needed to transform it from its official title of “hunting camp” to “idyllic cabin”. There is evidence of a significant vermin problem, and the insulation, poking through the vapor barrier, is so stained that it will need replacing.

“Whaddaya think those stains are?”, I asked Dave one day. I was trying to be ironic and funny but on that particular day, all sense of humor had been lost.

“Well, without a full lab analysis that will take days to complete, my best guess is a variety of vermin piss”. I am sure Dave was also trying to be ironic and funny.

After a few visits and copious notes, Dave compiled a list of renovations (not including the possible addition of septic and well). The spreadsheet contains 80 items including cost breakdown. The renos, which we plan on doing mostly ourselves, will cost more than the purchase price. Breakdown indeed.

The big ticket item is the raising of the structure. Although the cabin is not that old (1997) and not that big (500 square feet), it is unfortunately resting almost below grade, so one side is squatting defiantly in the dirt.

The joists along the right side are rotting and the floor boards will need replacing. You can see through to the ground beneath and have to be careful where you step. The cabin will need to be raised, the earth excavated, proper footings applied, floor and joists repaired. This will be expensive – quotes have been in the area of half the purchase price of the entire property. I lost my mind on one unfortunate bidder. I may have yelled something like, “are you f*cking kidding me! “. What a class act.

I did apologize. It probably won’t be the last time.

On this particular day, Dave and I are up early. I am giddy with anticipation. This is officially DAY 1 of actual reno work. Autumn is marching on and we want to get as much as we can completed before the snow flies. The truck is packed and ready to go. Bales of wire mesh and Tyvek are ready to be applied.

Our plan today is to seal the soffits with wire mesh to make it critter proof. Presently, there is nothing covering the soffits so the roof and attic space are easily accessible. Little bits of insulation are scattered around the cabin where guests have created entrances. There are squirrel holes that make us a wee bit hysterical.

I’m dreaming of the campfire we are going to have at the end of the day to celebrate our hard work. Beers clinking, Dave will turn to me and say, “I have to admit it – you were absolutely right to buy this place. It’s going to be great! Good job hon!”

I’m in the kitchen, overall clad and ready to go, wondering what is keeping Dave. He disappeared awhile ago downstairs to get dressed. So, like every patient spouse, I yell down to inquire what the heck is going on.

I hear him shuffle to the bottom of the stairs and I peer down to see his head appear around the corner.

“I think I’ve hurt my toe”, he says with a blank face. I know immediately he is not trying to be ironic or funny.

I start to get a funny feeling in my stomach. Dave never has a blank face. He’s an expressive guy.

“What do you mean you’ve hurt your toe?” I ask. My veneer of calm is fragile and I am starting to overheat in my long johns-wool socks getup.

“Umm…I was getting dressed and… my toe got stuck”. Dave starts hobbling up the stairs.

I’m thinking to myself, are you kidding me right now?! You’ve got man toe pain and this is only DAY 1 of renos that will probably take 5 years?!

But I stay silent and wait for Dave to reach the top of the stairs. He has socks on so I can’t see this problematic toe.

He hobbles past me, moans a little bit and slumps down on the coach. He has a roll of duct tape in his hand.

“OK”, I say, “show me this toe”.

He silently peels off his sock and the funny feeling in my stomach morphs into a pint-sized panic attack. His baby toe is beet red – purple actually. It’s plump like an injected berry ready to burst. I swear I can feel it’s frantic heartbeat and heat. There is no way that thing isn’t broken or dislocated. It’s bad.

Dave notices my reaction and gestures with the duct tape. “No problem! I’ll just tape the baby toe to the fourth toe to stabilize it. It’ll be fine!”.

To recap, our plan is to cover the “soffits” in a double layer of wire mesh. That means going up and down ladders all day, leaning and bending precariously to staple the mesh in place. To make matters more challenging, there is a two foot deep moat dug all around the cabin, completed by the previous owner in an attempt to fix the foundational issues. Whenever we are on the property, one of us inevitably falls into the trench. At first this made us laugh as there is nothing funnier than watching your spouse suddenly stumble. It won’t be so funny when one of us goes flying off the ladder that is perched perilously in the aforesaid moat. There is no way he can work like this.

If Dave goes down this early into the game, I may have to forfeit.

I take a deep breath and muster enough calm to speak: “Wow hon, that looks really painful. How did you manage to do that?”

Dave is busy taping his toes together and mumbles an answer. I ask him to repeat as I cannot believe I heard correctly.

“Putting on my underwear” he says. “I caught the baby toe putting on my underwear. It got caught on the elastic band and was yanked up and out of its socket…”

I stare.

“…really hard!” he continues imploringly.

I slowly process this information. My husband, who is quite skilled in all areas of home renovations and diligent about site safety, has just dislocated his baby toe.

Putting on his underwear.

On day 1 of cabin renos.

Celebratory campfire visions go Poof.

A mind monkey fires a tiny poisonous dart into my skull to deliver this ominous message: “this may be unconscious sabotage…he doesn’t really want to take this journey with you…he’s even willing to break his toe…putting on his underwear….who does that?!…”

You are probably familiar with that beautiful Chinese proverb, “the journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step” by Lao Tzo. I love it. We all love it. It tells us we have to start somewhere, the journey cannot commence without taking that first step. It’s beautiful and inspiring and reminds us that dreams are only dreams until we take action.

All of this is racing through my mind as I stare down at Dave’s duct-taped, purple toe. He has actually done a decent job of it.

Well, Lao Tzo, you are correct. Every journey must start with a single step. But I don’t think underwear was invented or popular in your day.

I sigh, pat Dave on the shoulder and suggest we simply forgo today. Honestly, if it were me, I would not be up for the job. Furthermore, Dave would never make me feel badly about not being able to continue. He’d be too busy applying ice to my crumpled toe telling me to lie down and elevate it. Dave really is that nice.

“Nah”, he says, “It’s all good. I can’t feel a thing now that they’re taped!”

He can’t feel a thing. I can’t decide if I should laugh or cry.

I look at my perfectly imperfect husband and feel a wave of love and appreciation. He actually wants to continue with our proposed plan even with a duct-taped foot and purple baby toe? Well, if he’s game then so am I.

I yank out the poisonous mind dart, help Dave on with his socks, grab his steel-toed swamp boats and put a couple of extra beers into my backpack.

He’s earned it.

Karma Cabin lesson #3: Maybe it’s better if your first step on the proverbial journey is a misstep; it’ll make you reconsider whether or not you really want to commit to the trip. It will also remind you that the road may be fraught with moats, broken toes and precarious leanings.

karma cabin tidbit:

As I was putting this blog post together, I did a little research on toes. Did you know that Toe Reading is an actual thing? Here’s what I learned about the baby toe:

The little pinky toe is the Earth Toe, symbolic of trust and prosperity perceptions. The emotions of the right little toe revolve around fear, insecurities, and betrayal. The left Earth Toe is called the Trust Toe.

(https://swiha.edu/beatoereader/toe-elements/)

Dave’s injured toe was on his right foot. Maybe that little seed of doubt really did need addressing before our true reno worked commenced. When I reported all of this to him, he nodded sagely and asked, “So whose fear and insecurities needed addressing…?”

I am happy to report the baby toe is healing well and the soffit work was completed that day. We did have a congratulatory beer but no campfire as we were too tired and it was too late.