This is Fresh Pond Landing, a solitary stretch of beach that Michael discovered while out on his bike. You can travel down paths that a car doesn't want to go. Bikes are good for that.
This photo is from yesterday. Or was it Thursday? I've lost track. Claire thought today was Sunday. It seems we've settled into a camping rhythm, one day sliding into the next. You do some chores around the site, ride bike to the bathroom and rinse off under outside shower. Eat breakfast. Chat with your neighbors at the blue spigot where the dishes get washed. Then decide what to do with the day.
Hang at the beach, swim, read, go to library? Watch the kites flying. Early evening do a read-thru of a ten-minute play where Dad plays a character named Diana, and Rob is Jim, Diana's husband. Brilliant casting.
Cook dinner. [Last night Michael cooked local sea bass on the Coleman stove. It was better than anything you'd get at a restaurant!] Watch the stars. Have cup of tea. Crawl into bed. Read by flashlight. Get up in middle of night to pee. Wake to sound of one small, very loud bird.
Begin again.
