When I was a child — after the Jurassic period but not by much — we spent some summer days at my aunt and uncle’s lake cabin. We fished, swam and skied when we weren’t sitting around playing Canasta and telling family stories. One story I cherish is about the time Uncle Ben arrived at the cabin to find people fishing on his boathouse. I don’t know if they were friends, family or strangers. Either the story wasn’t clear then, or my memory isn’t clear now. I don’t recall Uncle Ben or Aunt Pearl being angry about trespassing. Rather, Aunt...

Article Link