Wam was spectacular, what a cabin on a ridge top should be. White and forest paint cracking off in strips, eastern shades shattered atop the flat rough pebbles, warped and spotted panes showing a subtly tainted view of long valleys in all directions. Charming, for moderns like us who spend workdays indoors, even when a third of the shade supports where snapped, partially detached, or outright missing. Unfortunately for us, the parents of a new and ever less tentative walker, the ground outside was spattered in glass from shattered windows past, and the floor inside worn boards rife with splinters and with gaps just large enough for swallowable rocks and loose nails. The grounding coil which used to be attached to the firefinder table had been cut off two feet from the floor and hammered flat, but not flat enough to prevent it being an object of infant intrigue, and, when our toddler-on-the-cusp had tired legs and took a late afternoon tumble, worrying abrupt head impact.
All of which is to say that our stay at the Mount Wam lookout cabin was less restful and shorter than planned when we booked it in February. Home is not without its booby traps, but they are known, and most of the furnishings known to us as padded or rounded, and known to him in location and dimension. The 15 by 15 foot Wam, even after a cleaning and relocating of all sharp, small, or liftable objects, had few surfaces which were not worrisome. So we spent our time watching the baby and dragging him back, often, though the still-breastfeeding M made it cover to cover through O Pioneers! When Little Bear had the second, or third, cringe and potentially bruise inducing crash that afternoon, and showed no signs of concussion but every sign of enhanced crankiness, we the family bailed on the planned second night, and packed up and made the hike down and drive home in a quite impressive time.
All of which is in turn to say that being flexible is, in parenting, important. As is going anyway.
You can likely guess, but you will never know for sure.