"Summertime, oh, summertime, pattern of life indelible, the fade-proof lake, the woods
unshatterable, the pasture with the sweetfern and the juniper forever and ever, summer without end; this was the background, and the life along the shore was the design, the cottages with their innocent and tranquil design, their tiny docks with the flagpole and the American flag floating against the white clouds in the blue sky, the little paths over the roots of the trees leading from camp to camp and the paths leading back to the outhouse and the can of lime for sprinkling, and at the souvenir counters at the store the miniature birch-bark canoes and the postcards that showed things looking a little better than they looked....
It seemed to me, as I kept remembering all this, that those times and those summers had been infinitely precious and worth saving. There had been jollity and peace and goodness. The arriving (at the beginning of August) had been so big a business in itself...(Arriving was less exciting nowadays, when you sneaked up in your car and parked it under a tree near the camp and took out the bags and in five minutes it was all over, no fuss, no loud wonderful fuss about trunks.)"The CNR years surely include experiences and memories that are precious and worth saving. And there is an odd juxtaposition of anticipation and dread, of relief and nostalgia, that accompanies this transition. I remember feeling this prophetic as I finished high school, so I realize I am continuing a melodramatic flair, but in my eyes of this is worthy of making a wonderful fuss. cy :)
