When I was growing up in hot, humid Florida, we would vacation up in the Mountains of North Carolina. We would rent these one bedroom cabins near a small lake. No air conditioning. No phones. No TV. No connection to the outside world.
We rarely ventured away from the little cabins. We were content with nothing. My parents would sit lake-side and read or play card games. I was young, so I ran around catching tadpoles, fishing, and exploring. Yet one thing we always did during the trip was go on a picnic.
Just inside the Pisgah National Forest are some tables and grills that sit river-side. We would pack up a bunch of snacks, food and drinks. Grab our swim trunks and water sheos. We would set up at the same spot with same table every time. We would tube and swim in the ice-cold water while we waited for the food. I would collect rocks and name them.( I still have some of those rocks) We would pick raspberries and run from yellow jackets. Dad would grill. My grandfather would nap. It was a blast.
Many years later we moved up to North Carolina and could picnic whenever we wanted. The excitement of a picnic started to fade.
However, every so often we still go. The same people. The same spot. The same exact basket. We use the same flat rocks we collected many years ago for the hot beans. We drink from the same plastic cups and eat at the same exact table.
This fourth of July we all piled in the cars, drove down to the river and did just that.
It was a blast.
How was your weekend?