There’s this place I like to take my family. A place my buddies and I always go. It’s south of town, over a hill and through forest, smack dab on the shore of one of the most beautiful finger lakes you’ve ever seen. When I take them, my step-daughter and I are always the vanguard sent before the rest of the crew. The ones who procure our site.
The place means a lot to me. Not just the campsite, but the entire lake. I’ve hiked its surrounding mountains, swung on its rope swings and floated its every last cove, some of them by canoe and with the permission of a low-hanging moon.
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