In the summer of 1959, my father, mother, 9-year old sister (known much later as Auntie Bucksnort), and I traveled across the country in our family's yellow and white 1955 Chevy BelAir. One of the highlights of the trip was a reunion with some of my mother's sisters and their children, up at a summer camp on Little Sebago Lake in Maine.
My childhood friend, Carole, just sent me a collection of letters that I had written to her over the years. There, in my 14-year old handwriting, was a description of a memorable night with the cousins.
|My letter, written in the summer between my freshman and sophomore years in high school|
It said, in part:
I'm on the road again, this time in Maine. We just left a cabin out in the woods where we had a reunion of my mother's family. All [actually, some] of my cousins were there and I hadn't seen them since I was three.
The cabin had a darling attic with a ladder leading up to it for the teenagers. Last nite we snuck down when all the grown ups were down at the lake (which is in the back yard of the cabin--the lake was named Little Sebago--really huge) and took a gallon jar of do-nuts and a great big can of cookies which we made that afternoon.
What a feast! We pulled the ladder up after us and you should have heard our aunts (they're all old and fat) scurrying around, looking for the food. Of course, we wouldn't come down when they figured out where the cookies were. We just told 'em they would have to shinny up the pole to get us--and that's just what my father did.
So they took away the ladder and wouldn't let us down to go to the "back house" all night. ("Out house" to Californians). We just yelled all night, "Mum, puleeze send up a slop pot for me! Please..." Then, "Oh, oh, you'll be sorry..." etc.
They finally let us down in the morning. Honestly, we were really glad to see that stinky old back house.
|The stinky back house, with our rather substantial swim suits hanging up to dry|