Christa Sinclair
July 2025
The Cabin We Bought on a Whim (and Why It’s Still the Best Decision We Ever Made)
Every family has a place that feels like a reset button. Where the coffee somehow tastes better, the air smells like poplar and sunscreen, and your hair has had lake texture for three days straight. For us, that place is the cabin.
And if you can believe it… we almost didn’t buy it.
The cabin that didn’t make a great first impression
Ten or so years ago, Devin was out on a drive with a buddy, just winding his way through the gravel backroads that eventually lead to “the river” — our local regional park just south of the farm. The friend pointed toward a humble little cabin and said, “Pretty sure that one’s for sale.”
Naturally, I checked the listing the second Devin got home, and, well… nope. The photos were dark, the angles awkward, and the entire thing looked like it might collapse under the weight of a strong breeze. One of those “is this a shack or a shed?” situations.
And yet — we couldn’t stop thinking about it.
A peek through the windows (and a very lucky second look)
Fast forward three months and one spontaneous drive later: we found ourselves peeking through dusty cabin windows, bracing for the worst… and seeing potential.
The online photos had done it dirty. The bones were solid. The layout worked. And the view? Oh, that view. Rolling prairie giving way to the South Saskatchewan River, with no cabins behind or in sight. Just sky and stillness and water.
A quick visit with the realtor later, and we said yes. On a total whim. No Pinterest boards. No plans. Just pure gut feeling.
And we’ve never looked back.
Just a cabin… but not just a cabin
Our first summer as cabin owners was… chaotic. In the best, most paint-covered way. The previous owners had left everything — the beds, the furniture, the fake plants, a lifetime supply of toothpicks, and a slightly suspicious bottle of tequila tucked into the back of a cupboard (which we cheers’d with later, obviously).
We scrubbed and cleared and painted and rearranged. There was no grand plan, just layers of love and elbow grease and a steady stream of iced coffee and cold beers.
Slowly, it started to feel like us. Like ours.
Because it’s “just a cabin,” we’ve always given ourselves creative freedom here. We rip wall apart, and repaint rooms just for fun. We hang art we love, even if it doesn’t match. If something doesn’t work? We try again. It’s a place for joy, not perfection. A place to play.
Back to our river roots
Part of what makes this place so special is the history stitched into the place itself.
Devin and I were both river rats as kids — the kind of kids who ran barefoot from cabin to beach, took swimming lessons in freezing water, and never wanted to go home at the end of the day. My family’s cabin was my grandma’s. It smelled like cigarettes, tanning oil with Country 600 dialed onto the radio and lived-in stories. Summer meant skinned knees, soggy towels, ice cream cones from the booth, and doing absolutely everything outdoors with friends.
As we got older, outside turned into inside tent trailers, playing card games named after swearwords, chatting crushes and first kisses late into the night.
And of course, as teenagers, “the river” was code for a whole different kind of memory: pit parties. If you know, you know. (this is where Devin and I even shared our first kiss believe it or not)
Now as adults the cycle has started again for so many raising their kids down here in the cabins they grew up in, sharing and recreating all those amazing memories. We have also been lucky enough to share weeklong stays with our neices and still do even into their ealy twenties.
We were always told to stay away from the actual river — the current was strong, the undertow unpredictable, and it was always treated with the kind of respect prairie parents instilled early. But funny enough, as adults, we’ve started slowly embracing that same river in new ways.
A new wave of river fun (yes, we may have started a new trend)
A few years ago, we bought blow-up paddleboards. The kind you can pack in your car, drive to the ferry (about 15 minutes away), launch into the river, and float for four peaceful hours back to the cabin. It’s quiet, easy, and honestly one of my absolute favorite ways to spend a hot summer day.
Then last year, we took it one step further and bought a Sea-Doo. When the water’s high enough, we’ll zip up and down the river — bathing suits on, hair wild, hearts full.
And would you believe it? People who’ve stayed here for 30+ years... who never once touched the river... are now buying paddleboards, kayaks, even little lite weight jet boats. We may be trend-setters after all!
Our sleepy stretch of river has turned into a low-key adventure spot, and I love that we’ve helped other's reimagine their stay here.
To be clear: river and water safety still matters. The current can get strong early in the season, and it’s not something to take lightly. But with the province’s irrigation systems and limited runoff, the river gets so low now that you can practically walk down the middle of it by late summer. Still, we suit up, use our heads, and lean into the moment.
What makes this place so special?
• The view: Forever wild, wide open, and entirely uninterrupted. Just us and the river and the birds.
• The freedom: There’s no “should” here. Just curiosity and whimsy and trial and error.
• The ritual: Morning coffee. Barefoot dinners. Campfires, card games, naps in the sun, puzzles half-finished and left out all week.
• The nostalgia: Ten years of memories tucked into the cracks of the floorboards and the back of the cupboards.
This little cabin has become the backdrop to so many of our best memories — summer birthdays, quiet mornings, pizza parties, a thousand tiny dinners, and at least a dozen paint colors I’ve tried and changed and maybe tried again.
What cabin life looks like now
• We said yes to a cabin we almost dismissed. It changed our lives.
• We’ve created a space where creativity, rest, and whimsy live side by side.
• We’re still river rats — just with paddleboards and cuter swimsuits.
• We’re soaking up slow days, morning coffee on the deck, and barefoot suppers that stretch into golden hour.
And if I’m being honest? I hope we’re still here when we’re 80 — floating down the river with a cooler in tow, talking about how glad we are that we said yes to the place with the bad photos and great bones.
These 2 photos are AFTER we tore the wall board coverd in swooshed plaster off. Believe me the before was worse than this after!
Happy Summer
P.S.
If you’ve got a cabin daydream tugging at your sleeve — say yes. Even if the pictures are bad. Even if it doesn’t make sense on paper. Even if everyone thinks you’re a little bit crazy.
Especially then.
Magic doesn’t always come with a perfect floor plan. Sometimes it comes with mismatched chairs, a bottle of mystery tequila, and a view you’ll never get tired of waking up to.
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