(Nonfiction, 2024)
By James P. Johnson
When he wasn’t in a cubicle writing marketing emails and promotional materials, Patrick Hutchinson would indulge in a pipe dream. His friends and acquaintances were getting married, buying a house, starting families. On social media, people were doing interesting, exciting things. His free time, spent on a worn, dog-fur-covered couch next to a perennial pile of laundry, staring at his phone, was a constant reminder that his rut was getting deeper and harder to escape. Enchanted by the idea of having a rustic place in the woods, he often went on Craigslist and looked at cabins even though he was nowhere near affording one.
A tiny, 120-square-foot cabin in the Cascade foothills, three hours from his place in Seattle, intrigued him. After the owner said there were other interested parties, he borrowed money from his mother and paid the full $7,500 asking price. Habitable, but in need of repair, built partly with reused materials on a small lot, it had no electricity, water, bathroom or cell service. Anything dropped on the floor would roll away because it was not level.
But weekends at his new place were fulfilling and brought him back to life. He invited friends, and, between barbecues and conversations over beer, they undertook projects to make the cabin comfortable. It was a learn-as-you-go endeavor—lacking not just carpentry skills, Hutchinson and his millennial friends had to learn about tools too.
A book about buying and fixing a cabin isn’t a plot that sparks intrigue and fascination. Yet Hutchinson makes work-project issues, neighborhood characters and other situations interesting. I didn’t laugh loudly, but his generous application of humor made me chuckle and giggle more often than any book I’ve read in a long time. Reading it gave me a lift too.
