how i made our overgrown lake cabin feel more restful in just twenty-five minutes

There is something incredibly special about caring for a place that has been loved long before you.

If you have been around Caravan Sonnet for a while, then you know how deeply I treasure our little corner of the Adirondacks and the history that lives here. These fifth-generation cabins aren't simply buildings to me. They hold generations of stories, memories, ordinary days, celebrations, heartbreak, laughter, and life. And lately I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be the person caring for them in this particular season.

It can be easy to look around an old property and see everything that needs to be done (and there is a LOT). There are always projects. Always repairs. Always another idea. And if I am not careful, the list can become so long that instead of appreciating what is here, I can become overwhelmed by everything that isn't finished yet.

So I decided to try something different.

I'm starting a little series here on the blog and over on Instagram where I am doing one thing each day to make our fifth-generation cabins and third-generation cottages just 1% better, 1% lovelier, and 1% more restful.

Not a massive renovation. Not an expensive makeover. Not something that needs to be completed in a weekend. Just one small act of care at a time. And for the very first project, I tackled an area that desperately needed some attention.

The View That Had Disappeared

One of my favorite places to work during the warmer months is out on the porch. There is something about sitting outside with my computer, surrounded by the trees and the sounds of the Adirondacks, that makes even the busiest workday feel a little gentler.

Except there was one problem.

I couldn't really see the lake anymore.

An area near the porch had become extremely overgrown. There wasn't anything particularly dramatic that had happened to it. It was simply one of those places that, somehow, had gone untended.

And isn't that how these things usually happen?

A branch grows a little farther. Another fills in underneath it. A season passes. Then another. You keep meaning to get to it, but there are more pressing things to do. Until one day you look over and realize that the view that used to be there… isn't.

So out came the clippers. Twenty-Five Minutes. I started trimming. And trimming. And carrying branches away. And then carrying more branches away.

Several loads later—and one slightly dramatic moment when my camera nearly went over the bank (don't worry, it was rescued and somehow remained completely intact!)—I stepped back to look at what I had done. The entire project had taken somewhere around 20 to 25 minutes. 

Y'all. I could not believe the difference.

The lake was there again. The space felt lighter. More open. More peaceful. And definitely more restful. And perhaps what surprised me most was realizing how long I had been looking at that overgrown area and thinking of it as something I needed to tackle someday.

Someday turned out to be twenty-five minutes.

The Encouragement of 1% Projects

I think that is why this was the perfect project to begin this series. There are certainly larger projects ahead for these old cabins and cottages. There are things that will require planning and saving and professionals and significantly more than twenty-five minutes with a pair of clippers.

But caring for a home—especially an old family home—isn't only found in the big projects. Sometimes stewardship looks like trimming back the branches that have quietly obscured a beautiful view. Sometimes making a space lovelier doesn't mean adding anything at all. Sometimes it means tending to what is already there. 

And sometimes the thing that has felt overwhelming for months can change in twenty-five minutes.

I walked away from this first little project so encouraged. Not simply because I could see the lake again, although that certainly made me smile, but because it reminded me of what can happen when we stop waiting for enough time, enough money, enough energy, or the perfect circumstances to make something completely different.

We can simply make it a little better today. One percent. And then tomorrow, perhaps, another one percent. Over time, those tiny acts of tending and care become something much bigger.

For these fifth-generation cabins, I don't want the goal to be perfection. I don't want to erase the age or history or quirks that make these places what they are. 

I want to care for them. To preserve them. To make them a little lovelier. A little more peaceful.

A little more restful. And someday, I hope my children will know that during my chapter of their long story, they were deeply loved. Here's to 1% better—and to beginning with the view outside the porch.

Watch, like, and comment on the reel about this 1% project HERE!

Happy Wednesday friends- I hope you have the most beautiful day!