As noted yesterday, the Steely Dan show was at Foxwoods, which is in the eastern wilds of Connecticut. It wasn't much of a hike, though, since Yesenia and I were already up at the family camp in Coventry, Rhode Island. Only about a forty minute drive both ways, and mercifully free of traffic.
I've been going up to Coventry for as long as I can recall. The house itself has been in the family since (I think) the 1930's - perhaps if my mom reads this entry, she'll give the correct timeline. It, to me, is the definition of Summer. It's seen it's ups and downs over the years, but it's always wonderful to go and stay for a couple of days. It's right on a dammed off part of a river that I think is called 'Big River', but carries the name 'Johnson's Pond.' Of course, that's what they always called it, but I note that the name doesn't appear on Google Maps. Apparently, ignoring people's cherished childhood memories doesn't fall under 'doing no evil.'
These days, it's much different going up to Coventry - my own grandmother has been gone for over a decade, and my great aunt Evelyn - the family matriarch - doesn't really go down there much, so the place is no longer the hub of family activity and home feeling that it used to be in my memories, as it was pretty much up until the very late 90's. That's some run, though, don't you think?
Now I travel up with Yesenia and we sleep downstairs - instead of up in the attic as I did as a kid - and we listen for the cicadas and the rain on the lake and she sits out in the sun on the dock and I take out the canoe. We drink gin and tonics and take trips to the shore and generally behave like adults. It's still a good life.