Off we would go on a Friday evening after dinner, jump seats occupied, cars heavily laden with grips and dark brown wicker refrigerator baskets filled with ice and freshly butchered meats for the weekend. Several bottles of good spirits tucked away somewhere usually clinked together as we traveled along, barely heard above the good spirits in general, however.

Well after midnight we would arrive at the gate, and I would beg to be the one to jump out with the key and be the “gate person”. How cool it felt on my legs after the long hot trip. Next would come the slow journey down the mountain over the many “thank you, Moms”, always hoping all tires would survive.

And then we were there................night noises only and thousands of stars and the roar of the dam, and absolutely nothing else...............or so it seemed. Soon kerosene lamps were dimly flickering, cars were unloaded, fine beverages poured, and bridge tables happily engaged with all kibbitzers welcome.