They were calling it The Polar Vortex – a swirling expanse of low-pressure cold air sent down from the North Pole, bringing temps down to -20C in the hill country outside of Bognor. The sky is completely clear – too cold for clouds, with Mr. Sun happily shining on blankets of snow.
My mind buzzes with the usual cavalcade of thoughts on my drive – things to do; things I ought to have done. But the heater is cranked, the radio is off, and there’s a big brown paper bag full of Meaford’s finest Chinese food keeping me company on the passenger seat.
I float along the hills and dales through woods and farm fields, my perception increasingly present. Time and space pass, and I arrive at the long, snow-cleared driveway leading up to my destination – a little A frame cabin called From A to Zen.
My host, Drew, greets me at the top of the drive. We had been exchanging texts leading up to my stay, and I appreciated that he answered any FAQs about directions, accommodations, and amenities ahead of me asking .
Drew himself is an affable guy who smiles a lot, an avid folk singer and back country skier, as well as a stone mason. He tells me about his love for the area, and about how he built A to Zen to share his version of a great experience with guests. I can tell that he’s at peace here among the trees and trails.
Boots on, my suitcase in gloved hand, I follow Drew as he leads me up to the little A frame. It’s perched up on a hill, next to the enclosed kitchen that he built next door, complete with pizza oven, grille and prep space. There’s milled barnboards and upcycled vintage windows – the cabin has clearly been a labour of love.
Drew explains the access to the expansive xc-ski and snowshoe trails nearby on the property, and I initially feel a bit guilty that I plan to spend my night hibernating indoors. I get over it pretty quickly, however, as the A frame itself has views from each of its glazed gable ends overlooking the landscape and is thus pretty immersive anyways. Drew points out the lighter and a big can of firewood, already broken down into pieces suited to the little wood stove. He wishes me a good stay, we shake hands, and I settle in.
First things first, I lay out my gear and change into my slippers and warm, comfy loungewear. Then I turn on the small electric heater and start the fire in the little woodstove. I lay out my beef and broccoli and General Tso’s chicken, say a prayer of gratitude for being so lucky in life, and enjoy my meal, making a bit of an effort to cut and chew with intention.
The cabin feels essential; it’s easy to control my focus. After dinner, I settle down next to the stove, cup of tea in hand, coil-bound notebook on my knee, enjoying the pleasing scratch of my pen dragged across dot matrix paper. Things begin to slow down. I start to write out my plans for 2025: my goals, project sketches, little things that I would like to do.
The late afternoon sun is getting low on the horizon now, painting the last of its amber light on the wall of the cabin and across the landscape, with shadows growing longer and longer on the snow. The fire crackles away; I feed it some more wood and work the dampers on the little wood stove to get it really cooking. I notice that it’s already dark, and that for the last while I haven’t written anything more. I wasn’t thinking about anything, really; I’m just here.
Soon it’s time for bed, so I bundle up for a refreshingly brisk jaunt to and from the privy a short way down the hill. Now vacated, I stop in the deep snow to look way up and enjoy the stars in the absolutely still, frozen sky. Back inside, I’m greeted by the warmth of the industrious little woodstove and feed it some more. I climb under the covers , contented, immediately sleepy. I drift off with a prayer of thanks.
The light of the rising sun wakes me. It’s chillier now, the wood in the stove now burnt down to embers. I hop out of bed and stretch my salutation to the sun. It’s already a good day. I’m invigorated.
In a few minutes, I’ve packed my things and hop out the door, taking in a deep breath of the freshest, coldest air. I wave goodbye to the little A frame in Bognor and send a “thank you/ I’m checking out” text to my host Drew. I drive Eastbound into the sun, thankful for what I’ve experienced here.
I spent my stay keeping warm, unravelling my thoughts and looking outside from within myself to the world around me. I am active in living as life goes on; I am abundant; I have more than what I need. Here I am. Zen.
If you’d like to book your own stay at From A to Zen, follow this link: Stay at From A to Zen
Words and photos by ‘Museum’ Rob Iantorno
