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  • I found myself in the woods, among the pines and lingering smoke from last night's campfires. The sun's rays burst through the branches letting me know today was going to be a hot one. I walk slowly through the campgrounds towards the general store to pick up the morning paper, soaking in the quiet before the campers stir and break the silence with the unzipping of tents.

    This is my love's most favorite place. His grandparents bought a cabin here back in the '40s and his family has been coming here ever since. It's filled to the brim with memories of summers past. Whenever I need to express to him how much I love something I say, "it's like your Pinecrest". When I first described my family's reunion on Martha's Vineyard, I explained "it's like your Pinecrest." When I suggest we rent a little cabin in the woods for the weekend, I say "it'd be a little bit like Pinecrest!" Upon finding the best taco in all of San Francisco, "Pinecrest!" Okay, maybe not then, but it usually does just the trick.

    The thing is, I'm starting to fall in love with this place too -- the iconic pentagonal silhouette of the cabin's facade, the idyllic four-mile hike that loops around the lake, the BBQ dinners out on the porch, the brightness of the moon and stars at night, the hummingbirds, chickadees and evening grosbeaks that dance around the bird feeders and peck at the watermelon slices we've left out for them. It's such a gift to come to the woods, to have no cell reception or emails for a few days -- to just have those you love and trees and birds around you.

    It's just perfect and it's starting to feel a lot like my Pinecrest too.
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