Growing up, we went on a family vacation every summer. My mother could not stand sand, so we were mountain people. Catskills, Poconos, Adirondacks.
For many years we stayed at a resort my parents had frequented with friends even before they were married. The owners knew us by name. There were cottages, but we stayed in the Main House where the rooms were large and airy.
Meals were served family style in the dining room. My sister and I planted ourselves outside it way before meal times, hoping to be delegated the all important task of ringing the bell.
The bell was heavy and golden. We took turns swinging it back and forth, clang-clanging it loudly in the open air as we skipped the paths, up by the cottages, then down past the Main House to the pool and around the huge old abandoned barn, summoning all the guests to come eat.
There was entertainment in the Clubhouse every night: live music, dancing, contests. One year my father judged the Costume Contest, and an older teen-aged girl trounced out the door in a huff when she was not chosen. She was, my parents informed us, a sore loser, something we were to avoid being at all costs.
We sipped cokes and watched our parents dance, then were pulled onto the dance floor with them to Alley Cat, Twist, and even, on occasion, to butcher the Tango.
When the band took a break we begged for quarters and met the other kids at the jukebox. It was the first place I heard "American Pie," which was so long it required two separate selections and additional change.
One year, primed for adventure, our gang of kids crossed the road and waded through the field of cows to the woods beyond, where we'd been told we'd find the remains of an old graveyard. The cows largely ignored us, but the bull, whom we'd been warned about, seemed intent on threatening us, and we wound up running for our lives (at least, that's how I very clearly remember it).
The gravestones were hidden under an overgrowth of vines and brush, but the ones we were able to uncover told stories of late 17th Century settlers with long Dutch surnames, who lost wives and children far too young, burying them in what must have once been a family plot, 300 years before we stood there.
The summer I was 12, the resort's owners divorced and closed the place down. There were other mountains, other family vacation spots, but none, alas, with hidden graveyards guarded by fierce bulls, or serenaded by the sweet peal of a dinner bell.
Even though she is headed for Chicago, Jen is still hosting the Spin Cycle over at Sprite's Keeper, so head on over there right now and check out some more vacation Spins.
But was Patrick Swayze there?
Posted by: LPC | July 22, 2009 at 01:13 PM
You vacationed where I grew up. Lots and lots of cows, and old grave stones randomly in the middle of fields. And no Patrick Swayze.
Your Mom was the opposite of my Dad. If there wasn't sand and an ocean, it wasn't vacation. For my Mom, the Motel 6 was roughing it...
Great Spin (and now you're making me feel lazy for taking the week off...)
Posted by: Mama Badger | July 22, 2009 at 02:14 PM
Oh, I like this a great deal.
We didn't vacation much when I was growing up, at least as a family - my parents had blue-collar jobs and there were four of us kids, so money was often tight. However, my grandmother took us camping at Tyler State Park in East Texas for a week every summer, like clockwork.
Those are some good memories for us - so much so that my siblings, who still live within driving distance, carry on the tradition with their own children.
Posted by: Jan | July 22, 2009 at 02:33 PM
Why is "Hungry Eyes" running on my mental soundtrack right now? I used to love the atmosphere of "Dirty Dancing" even if mostly for the feeling of safety you would feel staying in a resort like that. And, of course, romance...
Sounds wonderful. Great vacation Spin! You're linked!
Posted by: Sprite's Keeper | July 22, 2009 at 02:33 PM
Funny, while I was reading your vacation post it DID remind me of Dirty Dancing! That sounds like such a wonderful memory. Our family always took a summer vacation, usually to the beach, but sometimes to the mountains, oftentimes camping. I loved wherever we went - to this day I'm a travel nut. :)
Posted by: Oz Girl | July 22, 2009 at 07:20 PM
Just went to the Mohonk in NY last summer. It was great!
Posted by: Diane | July 22, 2009 at 07:55 PM
Was it like Dirty Dancing????
'Cause I've always wanted a vacation like that!!!!
Posted by: lizspin | July 22, 2009 at 08:03 PM
good story thanks for sharing.
I had some good camping vacations growing up. Thinking of sand I remember camping at the dunes in Michigan. I like sand but that time it got to be too much. The sand had the ability to find its way into and onto everything.
Posted by: lisleman | July 22, 2009 at 09:34 PM
I guess I'm not the only one who immediately thought, "Dirty Dancing." It sounds wonderful.
Posted by: Jenn @ Juggling Life | July 23, 2009 at 02:25 AM
I kept thinking Dirty Dancing ; -)
Posted by: Pseudo | July 23, 2009 at 03:34 AM