Breaking the Silence–the Mineral King Road

Because Mineral King was closed to the public all summer, I chose to not post about it. There is nothing polite about rubbing people’s noses in the harsh reality of being forbidden to visit the most beautiful place in Tulare County, and in spite of my natural bluntness, I do my best to be polite.

We closed our cabin on a beautiful fall weekend, shut off the water to our little road, and said goodbye to Mineral King for the year.

Road repairs still had not begun, although the contractor was gathering equipment at the bottom of the road on Highway 198/Sierra Drive. There was also a bit of additional flagging where a few wires cross the Mineral King road.

In June, after Tulare County had their lower piece of the road repaired, Trail Guy and the Farmer volunteered many hours, marking the hazards and making the road passable. The Park gave permission for these two hardworking, capable, generous men to do the Park’s work, for free. They were instructed to not clean up anything, because the Park wanted Federal Highways to see the damage and messes.

This repair project should have been started as soon as the road was passable. In the opinions of those of us who drove the road regularly, at the very least, the Park should have sent up a backhoe operator with a shovel-wielding ground crew person to clean out the culverts and clear the gutters. However, they are extremely short-staffed, and Mineral King is not a priority.

The road to Cedar Grove in Kings Canyon has been closed all summer.

The Park hired a contractor, and all summer we kept hearing warnings to not drive the road because we would be interfering with road work. In reality, there was no road work by either the Park nor any contractors.

We were also warned against driving the road because if there was a problem, there would be no way for emergency vehicles to assist or rescue.

An off-duty Park employee thought it was just fine to drive on the wrong side of the road, even on blind curves. Silver City was able to limp their truck to the lower gate for towing; the park employee’s vehicle was still drivable.

We were warned against using our cabins because if there was a problem, no one would come help us. No propane trucks could deliver, and there was no garbage service. Somehow, the resilient and resourceful cabin community made it through these inconveniences.

Eventually, the phone company made it up the hill, but Trail Guy and I opted to not have a phone at the cabin. Several neighbors have phones, which they made available to us. This was an excellent arrangement, and since Trail Guy helps them out regularly, almost as if he is everyone’s (unpaid) resident houseman, he needed their phones in order to stay in touch. In return, we didn’t have to pay $54/month to keep our phone throughout the entire year for 4-5 months of use. Even more importantly, we didn’t have to hear it ring, interrupting our peace and causing us to wonder if yet another Fireman’s Fund was desperate for our help.

The latest missive from the Park:

A quick update on the Mineral King Road construction project. We’ve just been notified by the contractor that they won’t need to begin full road closures until October 17th. They will begin moving equipment and performing some work along the road beginning on Monday, October 9th. They will have traffic control personnel on site during this first phase of work.

Road work impacts will be from the park boundary up to the top of the construction zone at the Conifer Gate. The closure could be reduced over time but shouldn’t extend beyond that.

Work will take place Monday through Saturday, no work on Sundays.

7am-Noon????Road Closed
Noon to 1pm? Road Open
1-5pm ???????Road Closed
5pm to 7am ??Road Open 

Access will continue to be limited to cabin owners and administrative traffic only. No public access.

In the opinion of the highly knowledgeable Trail Guy, formerly known as Road Guy, the construction zone needs to be extended above the Conifer Gate. You may recall that there was a rather alarming sinkhole in July, which was just 2 miles below the end of the road. We didn’t mention that there were also numerous “tree failures”, and the logs were just moved and trimmed to be one-lane passable.

Although it was mighty peaceful in the summer of 2023, we are not snobs nor are we elitists: we certainly hope that Mineral King is open to the public in 2024.

Cabin Life, Chapter Twenty-two (Finale)

Cabin Life: Final Thoughts

Someone’s Colorado cabin –definitely not small, rustic or rude

This is a backcountry cabin somewhere in Montana.

This rest of this post features drawings of Wilsonia cabins, where I spent 4 summers learning about that cabin community and discovering many common themes to the Mineral King community.

There are three distinct parts to cabin-ness:

  1. The building itself – small, rustic, basic, simple, often without electronic amenities. (But wait! What about the cabin pictured above?)
  2. The setting – rural, semi-secluded, in the mountains, taking an effort to get to (But wait! Have you ever been up Highway 180 to Wilsonia? And do these cabins look semi-secluded to you?)

     

A Wilsonia road

 

 

 

A Wilsonia neighborhood

The culture—slower, focused on people instead of technology; a place to play, recreate and relax, mostly outside; a place where meals and fireplaces become events in and of themselves; returning to nostalgic pastimes either of our youth or of some idealized youth of our parents and grandparents.

 

Outdoor dining is a big part of cabin life.

 

Napping is a regular method of relaxing at a cabin.

 

See? Outdoor dining area

 

Even outdoor cooking!

Fireplaces are a huge part of cabin culture.

 

Eat and run??

It seems that the culture part is the strongest determining factor of cabin life. Some of our cabin neighbors gathered in another location for several summers, due to illness of one of their group. One of them told me, “We do Mineral King things in Seattle, and Mineral King is present with us there.” (I probably paraphrased it beyond all recognition – Forgive me, Sawtooth Six!)

Thus, we conclude our 2023 series on Cabin Life. (unless I think of something else)

P.S. Most of the drawings in this post are part of the book The Cabins of Wilsonia, available here.

P.P.S. I can draw your cabin because. . .

. . . using pencils, oil paints, and murals, I make art you can understand, of places and things you love, for prices that won’t scare you.

Cabin Life, Chapter Twenty-one

Thoughts on Cabins from a friend

A dear friend of many years, Natalie, sent these thoughts, titled “What a Cabin Means to Me”. (Nat, I did a tiny bit of editing – hope it clarifies rather than changes your intent.)

  1. Secluded from the general public and hard to get to
  2. In the mountains
  3. Small and rustic, having only basic amenities, and no room for isolation.
  4. Not a second home, but more of a make-do-and-relax kind of place where there is no television or phone service. A place where you interact with family and friends by sharing meals, playing cards and other games, sitting by a fire, hiking, and just cherishing the quietness of the outdoors.

Once again, mountains, small, rustic, games, firesides, food, outdoors, friends and family appear. I think Natalie’s ideal cabin would separate her family from outside influences, causing togetherness among themselves. This is a theme I found multiple times. . . a desire to unplug and simplify in order to focus on the ones who are most precious.

Our Mineral King cabin is definitely a cabin but varies from Natalie’s thorough and excellent definition in several ways.

  1. It is a second home to us, but not in the sense of a home with all the luxuries you may be accustomed to (our first home is purposely lacking a dishwasher, microwave, “smart” gadgets, garbage disposal or heated towel racks; we’re just fine, but thanks for your concern).
  2. The cabin no longer has a telephone, but we borrow the neighbors’ to check our messages on the home answering machine.
  3. Neither one of us likes to play games; in the evenings we listen to the radio, Trail Guy reads out-of-date newspapers that friends bring up to him, I read library books and knit.

There is no single definition of “cabin”, but there is a feel to a place that makes it a cabin. I will share a few more ideas about it tomorrow. Then, maybe I will be finished with this topic. (No promises, because after all, my business is called Cabin Art.)

So, according to Natalie, a cabin is a small, poorly-constructed, primitive, one-story hut in the woods where everyday life is distant, and we gather to laugh with family and play board games while a fire keeps us warm. (If you have a giant log mansion on a lake somewhere, then you will have to edit this description to fit your idea of what constitutes “cabin”.)

P.S. I can draw your cabin because. . .

. . . using pencils, oil paints, and murals, I make art you can understand, of places and things you love, for prices that won’t scare you.

Cabin Life, Chapter Twenty

Mineral King Cabin Community

Mineral King cabin folks come from cities, suburbs, small towns and out in the country; we live in mansions, estates, apartments, and even a few normal houses. We are (or were) artists, bankers, equipment operators, janitors, teachers, farmers, administrative assistants, engineers, retirees, dental hygienists, sheriffs, lawyers, doctors, cowboys, builders, day care workers, musicians, optometrists, veterinary assistants, physical therapists, moms, Park employees, physician’s assistants, and those are just the first ones that come to mind. We come from Arizona, California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Virginia, New York, Hawaii, Florida, South Dakota, and Egypt. (And more places that I can’t remember. . .)

Our Mineral King cabins, AKA “small, poorly constructed huts in the woods”, are great equalizers.

Every one of us, regardless of our backgrounds, livelihoods, economic, educational or political status, is thrilled to have a small, poorly constructed hut in the woods without electricity. Every cabin has a barely adequate kitchen, a laughably tiny (or no) bathroom, maybe two, one, even no bedrooms.

Every single cabin user has to figure out how to deal with unreliable water, peculiar propane appliances, old stuff that may or may not work, and the definite lack of a maintenance department, hardware or grocery store. There is a terrible road to get there, rodents, spiders and other wildlife that may or may not be appreciated, and all sorts of unexpected situations. (Who left this chair and what happened to my flashlight??  Does anyone have any birthday candles? What’s wrong with this place that has no outlets? Are you serious that I cannot blow-dry my hair?)

Every single cabin that is owned by multiple families has its conflicts, whether decorating, cleaning, maintaining, or scheduling. The cabins without partnerships have to bear all the expenses, decisions, maintenance and cleaning without benefit of sharing the load.

Whether folks have complicated lives in fancy places or plainer lives in simpler places, all view a cabin as a mixed blessing: a family tradition, a repository of memories, and a bit of an inconvenience, but still a huge treat, their own treasured shabby shack in the mountains.

We have fought together against bureaucracy, helped one another, hiked together, learned one another’s family trees, and through it all we have built multi-generational friendships weekend upon weekend, year after year after decade after decade. And I am just a newcomer. . .

P.S. I can draw your cabin (or house or barn or garage or shed or hut or cottage or mansion) because. . .

. . . using pencils, oil paints, and murals, I make art you can understand, of places and things you love, for prices that won’t scare you.

Cabin Life, Chapter Nineteen

What is a Cabin?

You may have noticed that some posts about art are beginning to be regular interruptions to our series called “Cabin Life”. My art business is waking back up after a semi-comatose summer. 

So, let’s wrap up this topic with some final posts. These are a rerun from 2018, but maybe you have slept since then, or maybe you didn’t read my blog back then.

Wilsonia cabin porchWhat is a Cabin?

In 1986 I married into a Mineral King cabin. I’d always wanted either a cabin or a beach house. Here in Tulare County, cabins are more available and accessible than beach houses. It has worked out well, even to the point that my art business is called Cabin Art. (Or Cabinart. . . for a Typo-Psycho, I am awfully ambivalent about the spelling of this invented word.)

One would think that I would know how to define the word “cabin”. Alas, one would be wrong about that!

We had an old dictionary at the cabin, so I looked up “cabin”. The 3rd definition said, “A small, rude hut”. Clearly the word “rude” has changed in meaning since the dictionary was published in 1935. I looked up “rude” and saw “Poorly constructed”.

Alrighty, then. A cabin is a small, poorly constructed hut.

But is it? 

I looked up “cabin” on my Mac. The dictionary on my computer has fairly useless definitions as far as our discussion is concerned.

Cabin may refer to:

  • Beach cabin, a small wooden hut on a beach
  • Log cabin, a house built from logs
  • Chalet, a wooden mountain house with a sloping roof
  • Small remote mansion (Western Canada)
  • Small, free-standing structures that serve as individual lodging spaces of a motel
  • Cottage, a small house

We called this The Beach House while growing up; never once did the word “cabin” enter our little skulls.

Forget that. Where’s my real Webster’s dictionary?? Mine was published in 2004 rather than 1935. Oh good grief, look at this: “A small, simple, one-story house.”

That’s it? Au contraire! (Is that how you say “You are wrong” in French?)

In 2018, a few folks checked in with their thoughts on what a cabin is. One suggested “primitive”; another said a place to get away from every day life; someone else put forth the idea that a cabin is a state of mind. “Non-fancy” is a good description, and another added gave a description of an ideal cabin. She used the word “spare”, which could mean an extra home or it could mean without clutter. (I’ve seen some pretty cluttered cabins, and I have lived in a cabin when it was my only place of residence.)

To be continued. . . (and your thoughts are welcome!)

P.S. I can draw your cabin (or house) because. . .

. . . using pencils, oil paints, and murals, I make art you can understand, of places and things you love, for prices that won’t scare you.

 

Cabin Life, Chapter Eighteen

Old Work

A number of years ago (feels like five, so it is probably ten), the head law enforcement ranger in Mineral King decided that the Spring Creek footbridge shouldn’t be installed when the water was splashing onto it because it might be slippery. Never mind that the bridge has a hand rail; never mind that people were building weird little crossings all over the place; never mind that people found where the bridge was stored and dragged it into a precarious position without properly installing it; never mind that crossing became more treacherous with all these make-do solutions.

When Trail Guy worked Maintenance in Mineral King, he was one of the bridge installers each year. In The Year of No Bridge, he, along with some neighbors, decided to bypass the bureaucratic baloney.

This year, the very accommodating and capable trail crew installed the bridge as a thank you to Trail Guy for volunteering so much time to opening the road and repairing the sinkhole.

They rightly assumed that we would be capable of using the handrail if we needed a bit more help while crossing.

More Work

I love to do what I have deemed “waterology”. This means that I direct water off roads and trails whenever I can. I don’t mind standing in icy water, flinging rocks, yanking branches, digging more rocks and mud, and redirecting the water in order to prevent further erosion.

First, we worked on Chihuahua in mid-June. This is usually a nothing-burger of a little trickle. Not this year! Trail Guy and friends built a bridge.

Hiking Buddy and I returned later with a rake and got much of the flow off the trail and road. Chihuahua is just above the pack station, so there is a road almost all the way to it. Shortly after we finished, the very capable and hard-working trail crew filled in the deep crevices on the road made by the raging water.

The next week, Trail Guy and I tackled the problem of Crystal Creek, which was raging down the trail and even creating a pond in the middle of one section of trail.

You will still get your feet wet crossing the very very wide Crystal Creek. Oops: you would if you were allowed to go to Mineral King. I’m sorry for mentioning this.

I just walk through in my trusty All Terrain Crocs.

Yeppers, just standard issue Waterologist footwear.

P.S. I can draw your cabin because. . .

. . . using pencils, oil paints, and murals, I make art you can understand, of places and things you love, for prices that won’t scare you.

Cabin Life, Chapter Seventeen

More Work

Sequoia National Park is overwhelmed and understaffed. The employees have too much to do in the main section of the park, and Mineral King isn’t high on their list, particularly while closed this summer. They are doing the best they can, but much is overlooked.

That’s okay, Trail Guy and your Central California Artist are on the job!

The four signs directing people to not drive off the bridge fell, due to the heavy snow load. One would think that people would know to stay on the bridge, but there are many safety regulations that must be obeyed by road departments, at least when a bridge is constructed. After that, apparently we are on our own in terms of using some Cowboy Logic.

The wallpaper was peeling.

I got to trim it.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Gravy Moto, Caretakers of Wilderness.

P.S. I can draw your cabin because. . .

. . . using pencils, oil paints, and murals, I make art you can understand, of places and things you love, for prices that won’t scare you.

Cabin Life, Chapter Sixteen

Work

Because Trail Guy lives at our cabin almost fulltime in the summer, he is the go-to person when cabin neighbors need help. It is tricky and expensive to get plumbers and carpenters up the hill, so when Trail Guy is able, he comes to the aid of our friends. If I am around, I often serve as his assistant.

Earlier this summer, we opened a neighbor’s cabin. When we turned on the water, we discovered a leak in the pipe on the left.

The pipe leads to the cold water in the kitchen sink.

It was a hot day, and I knew we’d be working in the sun. Nope, not this little gray duck. I carried an umbrella stand from our cabin and borrowed another neighbor’s umbrella to our site. (That’s correct—our umbrella was harder to transport.)

Trail Guy got out his super-duper tool box, a gift from yet another cabin neighbor (MANY THANK YOUS, LOUISE!)

We removed the window screen in order to undo the faucet, or something. (I just work here. . .)

All this means something to Trail Guy. His explanations haven’t stuck with me.

Finally, the dresser coupling was in place, and the screen was replaced on the window.(“Dresser coupling?” We addressed this in a post last year, which I don’t expect you to remember, so here is the link—see item #2— in case you would like a refresher.)

As I thought over this repair job, something occurred to me: this was a group project. Trail Guy repaired the pipe with: A. My mom supplied the umbrella stand; B. Next door neighbor supplied the umbrella; C. Neighbor next to the leaky pipe supplied the dresser coupling when he cleaned out his attic a few years ago; D. Dear neighbor across the way supplied the tool box. 

And I helped!

P.S. Trail Guy is NOT a plumber nor a carpenter. If you try to hire him, he will say no. 

P.P.S. (that means P.S. #2) I can draw your cabin because. . .

. . . using pencils, oil paints, and murals, I make art you can understand, of places and things you love, for prices that won’t scare you.

 

Cabin Life, Chapter Fifteen

Cabins 

This post is just general photos of the cabins, some so you can see the settings, some so you can just enjoy them in all their rustic simplicity.

This isn’t a cabin—it is someone’s outbuilding.

P.S. I can draw your cabin because. . .

. . . using pencils, oil paints, and murals, I make art you can understand, of places and things you love, for prices that won’t scare you.

 

Another Interruption About Art

Painting to Country Music

Recently while stuck inside on a very rainy day at the cabin, Trail Guy had to replace the batteries in the radio. That erased the saved stations, and as he was resetting them, he found two classic rock and one classic country station. We entertained ourselves for an evening by hopping around among the three stations, and I was shocked, “SHOCKED”, I say, to realize how many voices, introductions, and songs I not only recognized, but could sing (poorly) to. 

I forgot how much I used to (and apparently still do) love country music. I don’t like the really old stuff and don’t know the new stuff, but the tunes from the ’70s and ’80s float my boat.

When we got home, I dug out a stack of my old CDs*, put them in my stereo (yeah, it is probably “old” too), and started painting while singing (poorly). Doesn’t this seem like an appropriate painting for country music? Here is the progression:

This is from a photo on top of Rocky Hill. At this time of writing, it is untitled.

*Steve Wariner (my absolute forever favorite), Emmy Lou Harris, Suzy Bogguss, Collin Raye, and Skip Ewing. (Only Steve Wariner showed up when Trail Guy and I were playing “Name That Tune”).

And you might be wondering about this: In the category of country, Trail Guy usually guessed Hank Williams Sr. or Johnny Cash, but he excelled at the rock station, whereas I thought most of those songs sounded alike with repetitious screaming guitars and scratchy yelling voices. (They didn’t play Toto or Little River Band, but they did play one Kansas—I love those tight harmonies.)