If you place the objective firmly in the title, maybe that works and we name the cabin. In view of the large variety of names that are possibilities, the fact that Nashville, Indiana, and Brown County are small do not factor into the naming convention.
Small, as in small town America. Maybe that’s why the deliveries for other residents are left at my place – they know I’ll figure it out. Maybe they hope. After all, I am the first long-term resident of the cabin that had been previously used as more of a vacation rental. I heard a story about one package that was delivered (according to the USPS) that took a year to make it up the lane – likely because of timing (winter) and the lack of a regular occupant. Maybe that’s also why the mail boxes don’t have to be in order…
My first experience here with that small town America concept was the first night staying in Nashville when first looking for a home here in April of 2017. The bed and breakfast that was my home-away-from-home for the search (and was used for all trips made, a total of six, and all stays in the same room). The B&B is within a couple of blocks of the main intersection. Most things in town are within maybe four blocks or so of that intersection. Wandering down from Michigan, the scenic route seemed best. The road most traveled in earlier visits to Nashville while living in Indianapolis was Indiana 135. But, no. It was closed somewhere between Morgantown and Bean Blossom. As I meandered the detour, it became apparent that arrival on time was not in the cards. On calling the innkeeper, I learned that she needed to leave before my new expected arrival time, but that the neighbor would let me in. OK. That seemed quaint. The neighbor was very familiar with the place and the town. We chatted and then I mentioned that the brewery in town was new to me and that I might wander over there. He thought that was a good idea and then admitted being a part owner of the brewery.
Small town chapter two or three came later. The brewery was open, so I sat at the bar. Being single, that was more acceptable to me than being alone at a table. Everyone working there was friendly and I was introduced to people at the L-shaped bar. People came and went. Finally, with maybe seven or eight of us at the bar and it was 10:30 PM, I asked, “When do you close?” “We closed at 10:00.” This was my go-to place from that point… The feeling was of a regular on my first visit.
There are other small town indications, but one characteristic seems to be unusual. Mail is not delivered to properties right in the downtown area (the exact non-delivery area escapes me). You have to have a Post Office Box. That seems odd, but there must be a good reason that to date is unknown to the new guy.
Naming the cabin. Yes. What shall we name the cabin?
“The Cabin in the Woods” is simple. It isn’t 100% accurate since trees do not thickly surround it on all sides. “Changing Altitudes Cabin” hits at a Buffett theme with latitudes and attitudes while mentioning the hillside location – you cannot walk level from anywhere to the cabin making inebriation highly ill advised. “Squirrel Haven” is true about squirrels. “Deer Haven” would also be true – or “Deer Walk Haven” – but when Maya barks, the deer don’t visualize a haven. Squirrels don’t either… Use of “Haven” is a tip-of-the-hat to my former home, Grand Haven. There are too many different trees to put one over the others as use in a name. There are too many philosophical angles, personal heroes, and other lofty approaches to single out one of those causes either. So, the winner is… Oh, it looks like we have ran out of time – maybe in part five...