Norma Messmer


My hand groped over the weather beaten pine door for the rusty lock which would unfold our "Shangri La." Meeting no resistence from the tiny device, I proceeded blindly to feel for the light switch which would show the way for the rest of our crew. As my searching hand passed over fuses, wires, switches, and knobs, I was conscious of the "special" cabin aroma, a composition of ant' killer, mouse poison, ashes from last and the "springy" exhilarating Lake week's wiener roast, scent of the fresh, Hollybrook air.



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