This small wooden box, no larger than my open hand, is somewhat trivial at first glance. It is 5 inches in length, 4 inches in width, and 3 in depth. Although I’ve never thought about the type of wood that my box was crafted out of, I’ve always loved the smell that drifts out when you open the lid, and upon presenting the task of “let’s identify this type of tree” to my friends recently, they all cited the sweet smell of pine as their main clue. On the back of the box, about one inch below the lid are two brass hinges that join the top piece to the bottom. Similarly, the clasp on the front side is also made of brass, and has a hinge and a hook that once allowed me to lock the box closed. These brass pieces also gave us a definitive clue in identifying the type of wood; one of my friends made the point that they were not attached to the box with glue or screws, so they must have had pins on the back that were pushed into the surface, which tells us that a soft wood like pine makes sense. On the surface of the wood is a carving of a wolf howling at the moon set against a dark circle (presumably the moon itself). Below the howling wolf is a series of three wolves, running through the snow and following very closely behind one another. The exterior of the box has been sanded down and coated in a layer of polyurethane, which makes it smooth to the touch and shiny to the eye.

The box has no engraving or stamp as to indicate where or by whom it was made. It is smooth polished wood all the way around.

I was seven years old when I pulled this box off of a shelf for the purpose of using it to protect more precious items. It was July and I was visiting the family camp in the Adirondack’s, enjoying time with my cousins in a little town called Cranberry Lake. The plot of land located on the water had been purchased by my Grandfather in 1962 from the State for $2000 and had been passed down to his family when he died in 1968. In 2000, his twelve adult children came together and built a camp on the site, making Cranberry Lake one of the most important places in our family’s history. With a year-round population of about 450 people, Cranberry Lake, very much like this box, is a seemingly small and inconspicuous part of the larger environment around it. But for my cousins and I growing up, this sleepy town was the eighth wonder of the world; the vast expanse of untouched forest and the single dirt road that ran all the way around the lake were ours to explore.

The box is now home to letters, love notes, and other girly trinkets that are generally embarrassing to admit that I own.

That July, my cousin Holly and I would walk two and a half miles down Colombian Rd. into town at least five times a week. Mostly it was because we had specific activities that needed to be carried out (we often brought chalk down to the Oswegatchie River and colored the tops of the large boulders, or caught salamanders on the bank of Matilda Bay and set up a ‘Natural Habitat’ for them), but the other half dozen times were because we simply liked to day-dream. By this time in my adolescent life, I had the fondest interest in collecting things; snow globes, stuffed animals, stickers, and whenever I was up at camp it was usually rocks, feathers, and everything that I wasn’t allowed to bring inside at home. I carried a small bucket and Holly wore her overalls with the deep pockets, and we would walk and talk, stopping any time we pleased to pick up a stone off the side of the road or reach for a particular leaf on a branch. By the time we made it home my bucket and her pockets would be full and our feet would be tired, but our minds were satisfied.

At the end of the month, when Holly and I had to say goodbye to all of the discoveries we had made that summer, she said we should find something to protect our most favorite objects. I remember taking our very last walk into town and venturing into one of the only two stores there. The Cranberry Lake Gift Shop was right across the road from the Lakeside General Store where we usually got our ice cream. The Gift Shop was full of a bunch of garbage (or at least that’s what our dads told us) so Holly and I never much bothered to go in. For the most part, it was exactly that; a souvenir shop with wind chimes, floor mats, ironic bumper stickers, and “Cranberry Lake, ADK” t-shirts of every size and color. I quickly gave up on the place and was turned towards the door when Holly called from the other end of the store. I met her all the way in the back where there were two glass shelves with these wooden boxes. We were immediately attracted to the shiny wood grain and polished knots that reminded us of the thousands of trees we had walked past that summer. We were drawn to these boxes because there was something about the howling wolves and the sweet smell of pine that breathed life.

Even now, thirteen years later, the box fills my nose with that scent and fills my heart with nostalgia. I’ve long since gotten rid of the objects I initially put in it, and I’ve long since forgotten what they were. That Gift Shop in Cranberry Lake closed five years after I bought the box in 2002, and the building itself came down not too long after (the owner cited a mold infestation). The Lakeside General Store is the last man standing in the Town of Cranberry Lake, and it looks as if it might stay that way for a long time.

This is a photo of the Lakeside General Store taken in 2012. It has looked the same since 1994. Across the street (to the left of the ‘Hershey’s’ sign) was where the Gift Shop once stood.

I have gone back to the Adirondack’s many times since I was young and I have ventured into dozens of souvenir shops, looking for a box that is similar to mine, only to be disappointed each time. I want to feel that sensation of being immediately drawn to an object and I want to get excited all over again. More importantly, I think I want to find a way to re-live that beautiful period of my childhood; I’ve been searching for an object that makes me feel as accomplished and adventurous as I felt when I bought that box at the age of seven.