The Camp/Bloody Pond

This is the summer house my great grandfather John built three miles from his winter home on Long Pond and left it for my grandmother and her two children upon his death. My grandmother, Ella would leave at the first sounds of the peepers in Spring and head for the Camp in Plymouth,Ma..Our family still goes there for the summer vacations we eek out of our business lives far away from the town.
As kids, we spent the summers there with my grandmother and our Uncle Larry and Aunt Vera and their seven kids in the next house at Oaks in the PInes. Riding bikes or walking Ship Pond dirt road to pick a few pints of blueberries without spilling them at the shot of the scarecrow's gun was difficult. I think we made 24 cents a pint from that company.
We played cards(war and poker), we swam, canoed,sunbathed, picniced and chased the call of birds(mocking birds) in the pine grove for three months a year. I tried to dig a hole to China once. When Hap saw me he gave me some advice; get an education he said, no one can take that away from you. Love doesn't last he said.No words of wisdom about the hole, or I guess that was his suggestion too.
My cousin Morton lives in the camp now during the winter and leaves only when we take over and stay there with my sister Donna who now owns the place. He moves to one of the campers at his place which is an acre owned by his late father Uncle Larry. Morton is a bog man like his great grandfather John, except he doesn't own the land the bogs are on which is how the bog men got rich.