I'm blogging from a old mountain inn, where I'm staying with my parents. It's the inn where my father worked as a musician back in the early 1950s. The mountains are incredibly beautiful in the fall: the conifers are a dark green backdrop to the bright orange, yellow, and red foliage of the hardwoods. Today we walked through the campgrounds where we camped almost every weekend back in the 1960s, when I was a kid. My father has been telling stories about his life here as young man, working at the summer resort in the days when the mountains were a playground for wealthy visitors from the city. My mother and I have been talking about camping here with Picnic Family over forty years ago. Today our stroll down memory lane was interrupted by a sudden downpour of cold rain, but we retreated to the inn where we were served hot food in a cozy dining room.
The two figures in the photo are my parents, of course.
