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Originally Posted by moose tracks
It takes five hours to drive to our camp. I never thought of our "car talk" as a tradition, but...we try to guess how much the gas prices are going to be in NH, usually 25-30 cents cheaper a gallon. Then there's the..."I wonder who is at their camps this weekend..." As we wind our way to camp, the car windows are rolled down and the sweet pine smell...aahhh. We know we're at camp, when the neighborhood mascot, a year round resident golden retriever stops by or swims out to greet us. As for leaving camp, a quiet stare at the lake, a final walk down of the property. We gas up at the country store, get a cup of coffee and the local paper and settle in for the ride which now feels longer than ever.
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Moose Tracks, I notice another tradition in your comment. You lovingly call it "camp." Ours is very much a camp and - for tradition's sake - I wouldn't think of calling it anything else, but there are fewer and fewer places around the lake that can be called "camp." I wonder how the owners of those mcmansions-by-the-lake refer to their places?
