As I ponder through my memories, searching for a particular scary moment which stands out among the rest only one specifically comes to mind.
Between school years each child is blessed with a three month long break from reality, it has been dubbed by the school boards as summer break. Most children enjoy this fun filled three months with trips to the lake or spending time at the park with friends and family. Our family takes a different approach.
Each Independence day weekend is greeted by a trip to our grandparents house up on the border of the boundary waters. Luckily we have cousins who live but twenty minutes from grandmas house. We our by far closer to these cousins than all others.
We all have fun in town, but we know that the children always have one thing on their mind. The shack.
One night as our trucks steadily moved there way through the thick forest towards our shack we encountered something none of us would ever forget. It had been a full moon the night before so the cycle had the moon as full as ever. As our trucks bobbled from rock to rock we came to a bend that was sharper than most corners. As we proceeded to turn our truck was struck. Panic rushed through our veins as second by second our comrades slowly vanished into the darkness leaving us in utter silence. A tree had fallen on the hood of our car. We couldn't believe it we were stranded.
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