While driving past this campground, just down the street from where I grew up, I found myself thinking about my history with it. As a child, I recall swimming in its murky water, going down the same water slide that is there now, even 30 years later. When I was older, my siblings and I visited my father when he was camping there at one point. In my high school years, there were a few times that I would meet the friends of friends who were staying there for a holiday weekend. The campground, admittedly, was never outstanding, but it was there.

About 20 years ago, a vivid memory was etched in my mind. It was a rainy day, and I was navigating the stoney drives in my first car, a manual. When starting from a muddy, stoney, rain soaked stop at an intersection, I remember struggling for traction. Being a novice driver, I hadn't mastered the technique of starting my manual car in second gear, which might have been more suitable given the muddy conditions, and the poor quality of the driveways there. To any observant onlooker, it would have been evident that I wasn't attempting any reckless driving.

However, that day marked a turning point. Shortly after gaining traction, the campground owner confronted me, sternly instructing me that he didn't want to see me there again. His abrupt dismissal was surprising and unwarranted, considering the circumstances. Since then, me and mine have respected his wishes and never revisited.

For those who choose to visit, it may offer a camping experience that suits you. However, be mindful of the owner's temperament. You might just find yourself being unexpectedly told to 'get off his lawn', metaphorically speaking, without much reason.