The romance of log cabin life

I had visitors this weekend: my genie buddy Susan and her husband came for the weekend, and on Saturday we visited the Lincoln museum in Springfield IL.  It's my second trip there, and it is wonderful. If you haven't been, and Illinois isn't half a continent away, I highly recommend it.

I mention this because one of the exhibits is a replica of the log cabin that Lincoln grew up in. And it looks surprisingly like the house that Morand Bushu, Mary Ann Miller, and their 11 children lived in from about 1840 to 1870, in Somerset, Ohio.

Theirs was one room with a loft, a luxury I don't think Lincoln had, and I think it's pretty much like the dwellings that laborers in Mertzen and Strueth lived in. From what I've been reading, one large room, and maybe an attached "barn" was pretty standard in 19th century France. 

The Lincoln exhibit puts the rigors of log cabin living front and center. At night the only light is from a fire and lamps burning precious oil, something I really appreciate now that night falls at 5:00. You also realize just how cramped living was: much of life must have been lived out of doors. There sure wasn't room for a child to set up a blanket fort, chase the dog, have a tantrum, or get sick without making it necessary for other functions to cease. And when I think to what extent I'm shielded from the heat, cold, humidity, bugs, vermin, and other vicissitudes of midwest life, my awe at my ancestors' fortitude balloons. 

The Lincoln cabin interior contains young Abe reading by the firelight, a dog at his feet, and the remainder of the room taken up with two beds from which loud snores emanate. I assume that once Abe set aside his reading, he'd have climbed into one of the two already occupied beds. Upon rising, one bed would slide under the other and somehow the cooking, eating, and other daily indoor activities would have taken place in the scant space remaining. 

As I type this on my wifi-connected iPad, with overhead lights and a sofa lamp illuminating the space, a lovely fire at my side, and my spouse out of sight and sound watching a football game on a 50" satellite-connected television, I feel preposterously over-indulged. My ancestors would have been agog. But would they be jealous, or appreciative? Would they disaprove of such hedonism, or elbow each other out of the way to take part? I think Morand might have been judgmental, perhaps his children as well. Or maybe not. Maybe they'd be thrilled that so much came from their labor. I hope they don't judge me too harshly, at least giving me credit for unearthing their stories for their descendents to share.