On Native Americans, Cows, Cabins, and Bull Fighting...

One of the best--and I do mean THE BEST--things about being an uncle on a family vacation is scaring the beJesus out of your plethora of nieces and nephews with stories about Chief Nighthawk, the ghost who lives in the woods and eats bad little boys and girls... Between Olivia's and Henry's scared glances out into the darkness and Sylvia mouthing "I hate you!" over their heads toward me, it was just one of the pleasant memories of yet another glorious summer vacation at Clemmark (okay, maybe not for the aforementioned nieces and nephs, but still all in all very pleasant...)

We went on a hay ride, took a tour of a restored mansion, shopped in a cute little town named Wellsborough, played games, ate great food, and laughed til the cows came home... (And they literally did come home!) A few of the more adventurous little cows and bulls (Go ahead, ask me how you can tell the difference!) even managed to find new ways of escaping their fenced-in pasture to take day trips through the back yard of the lodge! (Sylvia briefly tried out a career as a bull fighter but lost her nerve as the young bull stamped at the ground nervously! I'm left wondering why...?)

I managed to lose at hearts twice before managing a spectacular recovery with as winning score of -18 (Take that, Dad!) and even though most of the family made it this year, there was a turnstile at the end of the driveway. Some had to leave early due to unforseen circumstances (to which our hearts go out) while others couldn't make it until later--and need we mention that some didn't bother to show up at all? Granted, their plate is REALLY full which is a shame because they were greatly missed...

All in all, however, one thing about the lodge remains true--the longer you stay there, the lazier you get, and reintegrating into the real world on a Monday morning was very difficult to say the least!

But I wouldn't trade it for the world! The beauty of the nearly uninhabited countryside, surrounded by the mooing of cows and neighing of horses and the occasional scream of a banshee from the darkness as the ghost of Chief Nighthawk claimed yet another unfortunate child all conspired for another magical weekend, a chance to reclaim the peace we find so little of in daily life as we navigate the plenitude of tasks and errands that plague us in the real world...

It's amazing how four short days can reinvigorate you for another 361 days...

Just another 358 to go before we return...

As I entered my home that sad Sunday afternoon having left the lodge, greeted in the most fantastic manner by Beaux and Hawthorne (one might even think they missed us!), I can once again look forward to the days next summer, when every day lasts forever, every night is filled with laughter, and the 70s decor remains a stagnant, unchanging mark of the past... (I must say, it is the strangest sensation in the world, waking up and staring at that teal sink surrounded by light green walls and a brown mosaic floor in the bathroom which makes you want to scream up to the heavens, "Why, God? Why would you allow such ugliness!?!?)

One wonders how we will ever find the time to fill the days? (I'd recommend bull fighting lessons for Sylvia, but she may have other things in mind until we return...)