I never had the opportunity to go to summer camp. The closest I got was a week at camp for an environmental studies class I took my freshman year of high school. I had just begun at a new school and didn't know any of the kids. With all the social discomfort, I looked forward to the walk from our lodging around a lake to the dining hall. I vaguely remember the food being a step above school cafeteria fare. Sitting there with all the other students eating, I felt like I belonged for a little while before everyone split off into their groups again for archery, wall climbing and hiking. I did make one very good friend that year, Michael. He's my longest running pal and served as bridesguy at my wedding.
When I came across this postcard at the Culinary Archives Museum in Providence, RI, I just gasped to myself. If I ever have a dining establishment of my own, I'd like to base it on this image. Imagine bright natural light, clean mountain air wafting through open windows, bird calls for music, mismatched heavy china and the world's most comforting food being passed along the table in seemingly bottomless bowls. There would be a garden just outside the door where I would wander about in the morning with a basket and a notebook to jot down recipe ideas.Wild flowers arranged in tin cans would decorate the tables.
Imaginarymenus dance in my mind like flames flickering in the camp fire.