Many, many years ago my great grandfather built a one room cabin in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. That house has stayed in the family ever since. Its off of a dirt access road named Big Owl and was donned "The Little Original". My grandfather helped build it and then my dad grew up spending time out in the cabin. Similarly, my older sister and I grew up playing with the same toys in the same creek by the same cabin that our dad had. Inside the cabin stands a gorgeous wood stove, a bucket full of newspaper and kindling nearby. My dad has talked about the smell of cinnamon rolls pulling him into the house as his mom made sweet treats from scratch. I got my first job during one of those summers, working at a nearby stable. I would wake up with my dad before the sun and he would make me breakfast sausages and and eggs on that same wood stove before he dropped me off to groom and feed the horses. When I think of family, many memories are around that wood stove.