Cabin Roast

Cabin Roast | Light Roast | Single Origin | Brazilian

Smooth. Chocolatey. The kind of coffee that takes you somewhere.

You wake up before you're ready to. The pull-out couch is warm, the blankets heavy. Somewhere between sleep and awake, you start picking up the details — sausage and bacon in a pan, biscuits in the oven, coffee already brewing. You open your eyes and remember where you are. The mounted elk above the fireplace. Deer mounts covering the walls. The bobcat up in the rafters looking down like he owns the place. Late fall. Thirties outside. Fire still going.

You're at the cabin.

No cable. Cell service that comes and goes. News, if you want it, comes from the person behind the market counter in town or from an AM station cutting through the Ozark mountains. Out here, that's enough. More than enough.

During the day, there's the river. There are mountain trails to run on the old WWII jeep or the four-wheeler, going nowhere in particular, and that being the whole point. There are natural springs and creek beds where, if you look close enough, the water and time have turned something up — an arrowhead, an artifact, a track in the mud that tells you what passed through. Dad taught me to read all of it. Which animal left which print. Where to look. How to pay attention.

He gave me my first deer out there. A big buck. I had a BB gun. He said I hit it — and you know how dads are — but I believed him, and it mattered. That moment was his to give, and he gave it to me. Those mornings on the river running trotlines in the canoe, then up early the next day to check for catfish. Fishing for bass from the banks. Swimming the big hole downstream. It was a place where something real was being handed down, and I was young enough to receive it without knowing how rare that was.

That's what Cabin Roast is about.