Right Place, Right Time

right place, right time

A few days ago, while waiting in line for my burger, onion rings and huckleberry shake in the charming lake town of McCall, Idaho, I met a stranger. We hit if off instantly, and he told me a good story.

He owns a cabin there and spends a couple weeks each summer at it. He’d first come to McCall forty-five years ago and bought his cabin (located right in the heart of town) for $10,500. The owners were days away from foreclosure, and my new friend stepped in, making deals with three creditors: a couple local banks and an individual. The note in third position for $20,000, the bank signed off to him for $900. McCall wasn’t McCall yet.

Today, that house is worth close to $1,000,000.

“Right place, right time,” as the saying goes.

We’ve all heard those stories. My dad tells about growing up in the ‘70s in Crested Butte or Telluride, Colorado, where they were practically giving away real estate that’s now worth millions.

Looking back, it’s always so stunningly obvious what could’ve been. But opportunities rarely announce themselves, and when they do, it’s usually subtle.

I’ve told a few of these stories before. The $3,000 train car, the 5 acres of swamp that became Live Oak Lake, the little rock cliff that became a world-famous waterfall swimming hole, and many more.

The magic happens when the right pair of eyes and a determined dream match up with even the most ordinary place or thing. It almost always “takes a village” to make something great. But, it also almost always begins with just one person willing to see what others don’t.

the backside of nowhere

A few years back, my dad found a small national forest inholding for sale about an hour up into the middle of nowhere from our home in north Idaho. No utilities or cell coverage for many miles, about thirty minutes down a gravel logging road.

We bought the place for $2,000 per acre.

Some brave family had homesteaded here in the late 1800s and received a patent from the US government in 1908 under the Homestead act. A few old collapsing buildings clustered near a cold rushing creek in a grassy meadow were all that remained to tell their story.

But the residence—a hand-hewn, one-room log cabin—still stood. Barely. The logs, each one carefully shaped by that determined family, still had life in them.

Our whole family (my folks, ten kids, and four grandkids at the time) camped together the Sunday before Labor Day. The next day, we got to work: first removing the rotten roof, then unstacking the logs, marking each one, and scraping the foundation.

A couple days later, we poured a new concrete slab. By the end of the week, the logs had been carefully cleaned and re-stacked, and a new roof had been framed above to match the original.

Over the next few weeks, my brothers and I would make trips out to the cabin after working our construction jobs an hour or so away, biting off pieces of the project. We insulated and chinked between all the logs, built a timber-framed porch on the front, put in windows, doors, and rustic trim, built a ship’s ladder to the loft, welded a railing, installed a little cherry-red antique wood stove in the corner, and hung kerosene lanterns inside for light.

A few steps out the door, we dug a hole and built a simple outhouse, put up a split-rail cedar fence, and cut a pathway to the year-round creek for water. And, we planted a few trees—some aspens and ponderosa pines.

Five weeks later, the cabin at Palouse Meadows was complete. The whole project cost $39,018.

Today, our entire family (which has grown to several more in-laws and almost fifteen grandchildren) cherishes this place. Every Fourth of July we have a huge picnic, firework show, and camp out in tents under the stars.

The cabin serves as a gathering place, and my folks sometimes sleep inside (a luxury next to tent camping). It’s a wonderful place just to get away from it all, to be recharged with the things that matter.

Yes, my dad was at the right place at the right time when that homestead came up for sale. But the real opportunity was hiding behind hard work and a determined dream.

And the real value isn’t just in dollar signs. It’s in the priceless memories we’ve created there, the relationships that built the cabin—and that have been built by the cabin—and the fulfillment of honoring those pioneers’ efforts with our own.

the story continues

A few days ago, after waking up and emerging from our tents to gather round the fire for blueberry pancakes and breakfast sausage, we took down the salvageable logs from one of the other crumbing structures and hauled them home.

They’ll be resurrected as a small cottage for my grandmother—right next to my older brother’s place.

The work continues. And so does the story.

Today might just be “the right time.” And right where you are—or somewhere not far away—might just be “the right place.”

Look for beauty in your backyard.

Only much further down the road will it all make sense.

Have a blessed week, and please consider forwarding this email to a friend or coworker who might enjoy it. Your support means the world.

—Isaac

P.S. This week, we’re filming a full YouTube tour of the cabin, and you won’t want to miss it. Make sure you’re subscribed to my channel.