I must have been four or five because my parents were still married. My father, Uncle Bob, Uncle Rick, and my grandfather took me with them for an overnight camping trip on Lake Zoar above Stevenson Dam in Oxford, Connecticut. The boat was aluminum, outboard motor in a brown housing, they all wore red plaid hunting coats. I sat next to the ice cooler between the seats. My grandmother packed us loaded baked potatoes in foil, but we got hot dogs at the Lake Zoar drive in before we launched too (although back then it was just the Lake Zoar food stand, wasn't called the drive in until high school). As I remember it was a long, long run on the water to the woods where we camped, but the whole lake is only about ten miles long. We got there so late most of the boat run was at night, very dark. Now that was exciting. Slept in a pretty smelly green canvas tent. Dad had to lift me in and out of the boat.
Interesting how so many of us remember those moments so vividly. Funny though, my father doesn't remember that boating/camping trip at all.
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