One of the best things I did this summer was to escape for three days to Delaware with Zheng (with a detour to a dear friend's house on the way). Driving into Lewes, DE is a drive that I have done so many times, I could do it with my eyes closed. This drive also has a particular smell. Salt marsh.
The house was born in the early 1980s, when my grandfather had passed the land on a fishing trip with some friends. He admired a small cottage on a beautiful piece of land, with tall trees on the property. The land is at the cusp of where Herring Creek meets the Rehoboth Bay. Thus, the water is brackish, making it a haven for hard-shelled crabs.
Over time, the "little cottage" became metamorphosed into a casual, comfortable abode that sleeps 26. It boasts bunk beds made by hand. The "artwork" on the walls was made by someone in the family. The largest bathroom even boasts "bubble bath" pictures, for one of the tubs has jacuzzi jets in it. I remember piling in there with my two cousins (we are all in our thirties now!) and bringing a bottle of bubble bath in with us. We would get the bubbles up so high that they would overflow (and we would get into *real* trouble).
Another fond memory that greeted me again at this house was my own "monument to stubbornness." My cousins and I really wanted to have a "club." We didn't *do* anything. But we had this club. And I was the president. As president, I was in charge of having the sign made by our grandfather in his wood shop (the garage). I remember *insisting* that it was spelled correctly.
PHOTO: And so you have it. "Of course," I stamped my foot, "this is the way you spell it!"
