I went to summer camp in that part of New Hampshire.
I remember the mid-summer treasure hunt with its layers of clues, hidden all around the
camp's wooded acres.
The blueberries that we picked in August.
Cooked with sugar, they were put up in glass jars with our names on them. How beautiful
the rows of glass jars filled with blueberries looked when the doors of
the kitchen shed were opened on the last day of camp.