In the summer of 1982, we left Layton and moved into a house my sister, Mesia, owned in Millville, Utah, where Wynn had a teaching job lined up for the fall. It was one step closer to Mink Creek.
   We had a deadline in our contract with Lynn Nelson. We had five years to build the cabin in exchange for the house, so we were eager to get started. Unfortunately, Lynn did not have a piece of property to put the cabin on and the clock was ticking. We decided we would cut the trees down and build the cabin up to the "square" in the front yard of Mink Creek and then take it apart like "Lincoln logs" and put it back together on whatever property Lynn finally purchased.
   We bought a stand of trees in Wayan, Idaho, and the little silver trailer became a logging camp. Wynn turned into a flannel shirt wearing lumberjack with a couple of chainsaws, wedges, a sledge hammer, and a couple of peaveys. The four children and I visited whenever we could. We were in the forest with him for two of the most memorable experiences.
    First, one of the trees Wynn wanted to cut down was the home of a very busy hive of big black paper wasps in which they had constructed a monster paper cone. He resolved to cut it down anyway. He mapped out his escape route back to the trailer and started up his chainsaw. He tried to be sneaky by cutting from the back side of their tree, but the noise wasn't really conducive to secrecy. As the tree began to tip and fall, the bees were onto him; as the crunching of breaking branches began, Wynn dropped his saw and took off running for the trailer. So did the bees. He got stung twice before he cleared the doorway. We slammed the door shut behind him and watched the swarm attack the trailer. That was the end of work for the day. Those angry bees buzzed around the trailer all afternoon, but we were safe inside.
   There was a second incident when being inside the trailer didn't make us feel safe. It was a thunder storm. In the mountains, storms roll in quickly and with a severe ferocity. We saw the black clouds billowing our way and listened as the distant thunder grew louder and louder. The light dropped away and night came early. The tall pines were dancing, creaking, moaning, and branches along with the debris of needles and cones started falling like rain. I gathered up the children. Wynn picked up his equipment and we took shelter in the trailer. The first crack of thunder directly over us was deafening. The ground shook and then it really got loud. Lightning was illuminating the forest and the noise was so loud the trailer began to shake and bounce. We felt like sitting ducks in a shooting gallery. There were flashes of blinding white light followed by the rapid fire of thunderbolts. I'm telling you the noise was a dangerous weapon, and I was praying that our little trailer wasn't going to act like a lightning rod and get us hit.  We spent a sleepless night bouncing around in a noisy neon light show and took a nap the next morning as the pines dripped and the fragrant breeze began to dry things out. Being part of nature and understanding how we fit in, accepting how "little" we really are on this earth and what things we can and can't control are all part of having a Mink Creek kind of day.