My Fortress of Solitude

For years I've hiked up to a small granite outcropping on a hill to get away from it all here at Clear Creek Ranch. The view goes on for miles, it is a wonderful unspoiled retreat. At first I sat directly on the cold, hard stone. But soon I brought a plastic-covered cushion to pad my uninsulated backside, and after dutifully carting it back and forth on several occasions, I left it there.
Eventually the cushion cracked, the victim of broiling sun and freezing winters. I replaced it with a low-slung beach chair covered in plastic webbing. And attached a little umbrella onto the chair to shield my bald spot from the harmful UV rays.
Sometimes my wife and I used this retreat together. But there was only one chair and no level space for a second. On those occasions, while my wife rested in the chair, I stood about chivalrously rather than risk sitting shiverously on the ice-cold stone.
We discussed a bench large enough for both of us, but the rounded nature of the rock provided a problem. Unless I built a small platform to support it. The prospect seemed daunting, but not impossible. Over the next several months I lugged lumber, dug footings, and pounded nails. The result was a sturdy 12'x12' redwood deck, roomy enough for the wrought iron park bench we hauled up there in pieces and reassembled.
The little umbrella seemed inadequate, so I erected posts and cross beams and rigged up a shade cloth canopy. This was fine in the summer, but it provided no shelter from the rain. That autumn I added a shingled roof.
At times we slept up there in the open air, not quite under the stars, and we needed a dependable light source. The Coleman lantern hissed too much, and an oil lamp seemed dangerous. I strung together some heavy duty extension cords and although it was a bit of an eyesore snaking its way up the hillside, we were able to power a small table lamp. I dragged a small table up there to set it on, right next to the roll-away double bed.
A light bulb shining in the middle of nowhere attracts bugs, even those yellow "bug lights." Insect repellant worked against the mosquitos, but it was useless against the moths. Screens were the answer. And, of course a screen door. And then some glass for the two windward sides so the view wouldn't be obstructed, and sudden gusts wouldn't blow our blankets off.
Then one night I had to wait down at the house for an important phone call. As you know, we don't have cell phones out here. So I strung telephone wire from tree to tree and laid down some water pipe too. My wife sometimes likes to have a drink of water in the middle of the night.
That winter we replaced the screen walls with cedar siding and insulation, and hauled a little woodstove up there. And put down carpeting to cover the original redwood deck.
It's hard to get into a proper meditative state up there now, with the phone ringing and the water faucet dripping. So the other day, I climbed up on the roof. The view is still great. And from that new vantage point I noticed a little rock outcropping nearby, so obscured by brush that I'd never seen it before.
Tomorrow I think I'll go over there, maybe take an old cushion to sit on. You know, one that I can leave there.