Been there, done that
Lake Rabun, Rabun Beach National Forest Campgroud, Georgia
Heaven and decompression. We sleep ten hours a night, walk the out-of-shape dogs, hike miles up hill to see amazing water falls. We have a few drinks, play a lot of cards, organize the van. The crazy coolness of this early Summer and the altitude give us glorious weather; we dont even sweat except when we want to.
We attend Family Night (not the rainbow kind) at the Tiger, Georgia drive-through. We park Dervish backwards and open him up, drink a bottle of wine, and watch Herbie Fully-Loaded. Nostalgia. Love. Easy-peasy fun.
Children play, dogs give chase. It doesnt get dark until almost nine p.m., and then the fire-flies come out and light up the grassy hills below us. This is the beginning to a movie about 1950s era America, what it should have been, so wholesome I want to fire up a crack pipe or strip naked and dance on top of Dervish to counter-act the incredible wholesome vibe.
Lake Rabuns national forest campground has a swim-beach, too, and two days in a row we walk the feet off of the dogs, tuck them in the van to slumber (short-leaded, doors and windows open), and head to the beach. The water is COLD. Bone-chilling, swelling-reducing cold. Skip eases in and swims, one hand above his head, with our books and sunglasses, to the dock in the middle of the beach. I have to leap in, none of this ice-cold water nipping at my torso shit for me, oh no, I need the all-at-once shock. We lay on the dock and get tan, take turns using each other for pillows. We read and sun and smile a lot.
Cold showers only at this campground (which is actually more than were used to with a NF campground), so we shower after we get out of the lake, already-freezing. I find the cold shower something of a religious experience, so clean and so cold at the same time. Exfoliating my face while every hair on my body stands straight out and howls for warmth
my head feels clear and I stay in the shower longer than I thought I could.