As only a little kid can imagine, my mind raced back 40+ years to the long, unfinished dirt road of our summer cottage. Every summer our family drove five hours “up north” to the tiny town of Ellsworth. It wasn’t even on a map (or not on any modern day map.) My parents had purchased thirty acres of land on Lake 26 from the estate of Dr. Secore. He was a WWI veteran who loved living in the woods. He built a real log cabin with a huge stone fireplace, and the long, one mile road that led through the trees, pass the apple orchards, eventually brought you out to a clearing where a small ice house and big log cabin sat. It was our summer get-a-way!

There were four of us kids and hoards of visiting cousins who loved that road. Always covered in brightly colored leaves and filtered sunlight, the trail was overflowing with the sounds of branches swaying alongside chirping birds. You could tell that it was a trail created from some old walking pathway to the lake. Fallen tree trunks became part of its roadway and there were so many trees surrounding it—and so very tall—that you could barely see the blue of the sky above it. It was a challenge to get our station wagon down that path! The dog would bark all the way down and we kids would cover our eyes whenever we came to a particularly narrow part of the path where we thought the car might tumble over. The “mile driveway” to the cottage was our magical reminder that we had arrived in paradise. It seemed to take forever to navigate it’s rough and winding path to the cabin and the lake, but it was always filled with sunlight and golden leaves. It was a secret passageway to our summer of adventure.

The path started from the roadway and then dipped down into a cathedral of trees that bent over, covering the sky. On the warmest of summer days you could always walk up the road through the densest part of trail and feel a bit chilly compared to the heat of the summer. During the daylight hours we imagined hiking through the Amazon, or scouting for animals, or just walking with our grandmother to the “clearing” space that looked exactly like the Trail to Humpback Rock.

As night fell upon the road we never ventured far. It was too dark, too scary, and most likely had a raccoon or two walking down its long path. No matter where I am, or how old I get, there is no better memory than our summers at the cottage and our adventures on the long, golden, leaf covered path of our look-alike Trail to Humpback Rock.

Somehow, P. Buckley Moss was able to capture this most magical time of my childhood – summer vacation! In her art there is love and the beauty of remembering the most important place in my heart.

Maria B. June 16, 2017