I hear you brother. Three weeks ago I drove from Chester County to Cocherton just to fish in French Creek, Lake Tamarack and to revisit the place my granfather, dad and uncles built in the 1950's. I drove 795 miles, round trip on a Saturday morning through the late evening of the next day, cought a lot of fish, got a good sunburn and only slept about 3 hours. I revisited the camp, it still stands and is in a fair state of disrepair. I touched some of the trees that were so small when we went there in the 60's and 70's. I sat on the ground where we had our evening fires, now covered with grass, and I remembered the way my mother and dad voices sounded, and the things they spoke about. I remembered my dad and me fishing off the dock and coming bac to the fire from time to time to get warm and for my dad to get another Genesee. I recalled scratching in the fire scorched earth "tactics" with my uncle. That game never mad sense, but we loved it. I remembered the sounds of fish jumping in the dark and of racoons turning over rocks on the other sid of French Creek looking for crabs and fresh water clams. I thought of my family memebers: my grandparrents who worked so hard to buy the property and build the place for their family that we all so richly loved; aunts and uncles who laughed and told the funniest stories of when they were young; plans for the future that would not come true and then some that did. So, I hear what you are saying and I am glad to know that there is someone out there who feels the same way I do about certian things.