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A dark blue lake with shores of flat, gray rock and thin pine trees that touched the sky. Thick, sandy roads to pad around on, barefoot, to the hand pump, to fill the metal bucket with drinking water. Days spent swimming, chasing frogs, and climbing trees. Evenings spent canoeing, listening to the loons and whipporwills, before it got dark enough for the campfire. Golden marshmallows. Sticky, cheesy pie-iron sandwiches. Poking in the fire. Finally, the nightly trip “over the hill” to the outhouse with our flashlights, before curling up in our sleeping bags. Drifting off to sleep to the sound of my parents and grandparents murmuring late into the night…These are my summer memories, my souvenirs.

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“The fire is the main comfort of the camp, whether in summer or in winter”
– Henry David Thoreau

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