Ghosts of Summer

Most of my family live in upstate NY and at one time or another has owned what is called a "camp" in the Adirondacks.
Tents are not involved, "camps" are log cabins nestled in the pine scented woods overlooking a placid lake.
The Vanderbilt's bought Camp Sagamore, J. P. Morgan summered in Camp Uncas. These were rustic palaces known as "grand camps" unlike our modest, suitably named Camp Bunny.
Camp Bunny provided a child like me with all the wonderment and excitement a forest and lake could provide but my mother only imagined snakes lurking under the beds and the threat of a chipmunk attack while opening the bread box so we eventually went to a hotel.
Fortunately my cousin Jill blossomed into a glamorous stewardess, married a doctor, bought a camp on Lake Luzerne (see boathouse photo) and generously allowed me to run amok in it with a questionable NYC crowd. Those summer afternoons spent drifting on the lake were perhaps the best moments of my life.
Her camp has since been sold leaving only my cousin Amy to carry on the family tradition of happily falling down in the Adirondack woods, blaming the mishap on the obscure light provided by a full moon rather than the cocktail which was once in hand.
I rescued this old photo from my Aunt Kaki's drawer after she died. It was taken in the Adirondacks with her Brownie camera but nobody seems to know who these handsome frolickers are. I do know it captures the carefree essence of a camp and looks like a recent image from an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue.