I was just stepping out of the shed from my last trip and shutting the door behind me when I heard a car approaching. When I had moved to Ashford a couple of years ago, I wanted it to make as little impact on the mountain as I possibly could. The whole reason I was moving there was to enjoy it for what it was. But when it came to living in a cabin on a mountain, some things were nonnegotiable, one of them being the need for gravel.
There weren’t many roads in the area, just a couple of main access points that branched out into the private roads leading to homes and hunting properties. Some of the ones closer to town were just made up of dirt and pavement, but up here, I knew that if I set down some gravel on my private road, I could protect myself against some of the challenges that could come from nature, namely snow and rain.
The gravel helped prevent erosion, so the roads didn’t wash out during major summer storms, and also created traction to help make them safer during snowfall. Whenever tires rolled over the gravel, it would send up a crunching sound, announcing the arrival of anyone who might venture close, which I considered an added bonus.
I walked a bit further into the yard to peek at who had arrived, but I had a good feeling I already knew who it was. As soon as the truck came into view, I smiled.
Brett rolled down his window and stuck his head out to look at me.
“Afternoon, Aiden,” he said. “I got beer.”
“You sure do know the best ways to start conversations.”
Brett laughed and threw the truck into park. Rolling up his window, he opened the door and hopped out, a case of beer in hand. It was good stuff too. One of the nice things about being near mountains was all the hipsters who insisted on microbrews being carried at the shops in town. I might not have understood the whole ironic lifestyle thing, but I could appreciate a full-bodied beer with the best of them.
“I had to go down into town today,” Brett said. “Figured I could grab a case and come by for some bullshitting.”
“I’m all for it,” I said, walking with him across the grounds toward the front porch. “I’ve been chopping wood and pulling stuff from the garden to can for the winter all day. I’m about due a good drink.”
“I forget, do you have satellite?”
“Yeah. Is there a game on?”
“I don’t know,” Brett said. “I’m sure somebody’s playing something, somewhere.”
I laughed and climbed the stairs, opening the door for him. We went inside, and Brett sat the beer down on the tiny kitchen table I had in the eat-in area. My cabin wasn’t huge, but it was exactly as big as I needed it. The kitchen was separated from the living room with a tiny area near a window for a table. The living room took up most of the rest of the cabin. A small hallway led to the bedroom and the bathroom. I went down it to dip inside and wash my hands.
“Can I get you something to eat?” I asked. “It’s the least I can do since you brought the main course.”
Brett laughed. “I’m good for right now. Though I wouldn’t turn something down if you had it prepared.”
“I was just thinking I might order from Sergio’s. It’s getting to be about time where he stops delivering up here for the season, and I want to take advantage of it before he does.”
“Not a bad plan,” Brett said. “I know he’s the only pizza guy around, but I’ll be damned if he isn’t one of the best too. All my life, I’ve put anybody else’s pizza up against his.”
“Anything specific you want?” I asked.
“Nah, I’m easy.”
I nodded and called down into town to the little pizzeria. In about three weeks, a delivery would be out of the question. It was an explicit rule. Even as it was, it was a hike and a half to bring one up the mountain, but I tipped around eighty percent, so they never seemed to have a problem with it. After the pizza was ordered, I took a seat in the living room where Brett was on the couch and had brought the case. It was sitting on the dining room table, popped open with his keychain bottle opener beside it.
I tried not to let it bug me. Brett was an extremely nice guy. But I was a bit of a neat freak, a byproduct of spending eighteen years in the Marines. I would have preferred the box to be emptied and the beer put in the fridge, only bringing them out one or two at a time. But Brett was my guest, and I needed to remind myself not everyone kept everything they did as regimented and neat as a pin as I did. They never had to rely on that dedication to cleanliness and order to keep them alive.