I own a small parcel of land on the shore of spring-fed Lake Rafi. When I say small, I mean a pie-wedge section between two massive summer houses. The point of my land ended somewhere in the lake. This leaves me with a little under fifty yards of shoreline.
I’d had my eye on the parcel ever since my friend Judd, a land surveyor, told me it was coming up for sale. At the time the parcel only had road access, a stream cutting along one edge, and a cleared space for a small cabin or outbuilding. The land sloped gently to the lake and ended at a large tree before a few feet of rocks and boulders made up the shoreline.
Over the years, I’d built a small house, a bear-sized retreat in the woods. It’s got a kitchen with a country table, a cistern-fed bathroom with roomy shower, a bedroom with an
