Another Island

This past weekend brought me to an island: another island, and a very different one.

Several families decided to spend this July 4th weekend together in the Adirondacks, Upstate New York. Our destination was in the middle of a beautiful lake that we had to cross to get to our boat-access-only sites. Surely, an adventure.

Sending an avant-guard of two men and three kids ahead on Tuesday, my friend and I were to join them two days later. Leaving Jersey before sunrise, we did not know we are not to see the bright sunshine till Sunday.

After driving for seven hours with infrequent brakes for the wipers, we arrived to an empty shore, hopelessly searching-for-service cell phones, and ... a sense of pristine beauty and inner freedom.

The temperature was in the 50th, so quickly adding a couple of layers to our outfit we started to unload the car into a canoe. We miraculously fit everything, tied a guitar on top, and added ourselves to the cargo.

The rain stopped for about half hour giving us just enough time to reach the island. For three days and nights after that the variations were only in the intensity of rain, from a drizzle to the water pouring loudly enough to wake you up at night or to wet you down during the day.

What did we do? We did what we came there for: swimming, rowing, fishing, and hiking.

On Friday, with four kids age six through nine, we managed a four-mile hike to a secluded in a forest lake. The lake was amazing despite the wet clothes, the cool air, and the longest time it ever took for the three experienced men to start a fire. It was not raining as hard on a way back though...

On Saturday, we climbed a mountain with the elevation just about three thousand feet and the total trail distance of six miles. The kids did great!

There was not a single piece of dry garment on us when we returned to the site. And drying the clothes by the campfire was another entertainment available to us: which side wins, the rain or the fire.

Then came Sunday, and with it the blue beauty of the skies. The entire site was webbed by the ropes turned into the cloth lines. By the end of the day we accomplished a miracle: The camp was packed dry. We did not mind the drive back at nighttime after that.

"Did you have a good rest?" my husband asked at 2 a.m. when we finished unloading the car.

"Ask me tomorrow..." I suggested thinking of how much I appreciate his sense of humor.