Road, ditch, swamp, scraggly pines and Uncle Emil smoking Lucky Strikes. About all he had to say on the subject was, "Old habits die hard. Didn't quit cigarettes for any better reason than I felt like it. Smoke them up here in Canada for the same reason. Have to admit one of the reasons I look forward to my trips up here is to crack open a pack of Luckies. Says right on the package they're made from fine tobacco. 'Spose they could have said the tobacco was mainly floor weepings and ragweed but that might have crimped sales."
Outside of the asphalt under our tires the last indication of civilization we passed was a sign saying there was a town somewhere nearby. Where exactly was hard to tell. I figured the sign should have said something more along the line of:
<---- ST MARTIN ---->
(it don't matter which way you turn 'cause the town ain't there anyhow, eh)
Emil was lost in thought. In his fifty-some years he'd grown up in one war, lived through a Depression, fought in another war, and been married for thirty years. Yeah, he had a lot to think about. Me, I wasn't even in high school yet. Been nowhere, done nothing. On my side of the car it was just ditch and swamp. I was ready for something to happen. My Stevenson and Newman held no interest. I was ready to ask for a smoke just to pass the time. Been told good habits begin at home. And to add frosting to the cake, for the cripe's sake, it wasn't anywhere near dark even though the clock on the dash said 9:45.
About the time I was ready to crawl out of the window and live with the bears, Emil said, "There she is," and slammed the brakes into a graveled opening in the swamp. Only that's all there was. No buildings, no cars, no apparent reason for the clearing, no nothing anywhere except for the pond alongside.
"She's not much but it's our home for the night. First we've got us some work to do. Archie, me lad, I want you to crawl in the back and start passing forward all of the packs. I'll do what I can to stow them up here."
"You see, the idea is to make enough room so we can sleep back there without hooking ourselves in our kiesters. It won't be the Waldorf but seeing as how the nearest screened window is about a hundred twenty miles away, it'll have to do. Anyhow, this trip isn't about bed sheets and TV. It's about making do with what we've got at hand. And having a fine time while we're at it."
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