Oh to be here.
Thousand Islands and a house party with every cabin stuffed with people. Host and hostess yes but raising money for some charity down in Manhattan. An expensive ticket each and whatever’s left to do something good.
Well, maybe nothing good in the end but lots of fun. Porches with those funny railings made from sapling chunks and arches made from tree branches that grew curved around a big rock.
Gazebo on the point to sit in and canoes to take in the view with young gentlemen to do all the paddling. Picnics on the island opposite and plenty of lawn to sunbathe.
Bears off in the woods somewhere and a feral pig or two but hopefully too much noise for them to come visiting. Better not, what with the latches on the cabin doors not working. A husband to watch out but one afraid of tusks. Something about being taken to too many bullfights visiting his other grandparents in Spain.
Gin and tonic before dinner and lobster every other day. Baked alaskas carried in with the lights dimmed with so many sparklers they look like oddly shaped hedgehogs all aflame.
A treat. A little time to rest and think. Sunday afternoon and everyone else busy napping and waiting for dinner to roll around. Bookshelf with old albums on a shelf in the big cabin from they used to spend the whole summer back before they lost half their money and had to start renting it out most of the time.
Pictures and old sheet music flipped through but a picture falling out onto the floor. From one of those tableaux, it must be. Little girl in a tunic and mary janes with a floral wreath clutching a lily. Could be from Easter but surely Easter in New York it would have been what with everything in the north with snow until summer nearly.
No way to know, of course . . . a little cousin . . .all those boys but there must have been a girl somewhere . . . hopefully a nice husband later. . .but small and loved. . . all that really counts . . .