Like everything else, our Maine trips are different post BC.
Back in the 2000's, we contend with my frantic work life and my father's downward health spiral. Every year it's harder to relax, unwind and enjoy the fleeting moments of magic that surround our patch of the woods. I am always in a state of readiness and connected to my work/father via cell phone. The last few years of his life there is no pleasure in our time away - just wary insomnia and mounting dread at returning to the hamster wheel of elder care and stressful work.
This is a work year at camp - already gone is most of the useless, broken and/or otherwise non-essential things. Before it was ours, the cabin was first host to Auntie Irene's hoarding problem, then to my father-in-law's similar issues. There are ratty chairs and nasty old blankets, decades of old newspapers, and dust from the 1970's on every rafter. It had been neglected and allowed to molder, a home to spiders of unbelievable size and asshole red squirrels with personality disorders. We spend years cleaning it out, donating items, sprucing it up, patching the holes. It's been re-roofed and painted, decorated in a lodge/log cabin theme.
Anyway, it's more of a fun work trip since most of the biohazard work is done - a new bed and futon, finally getting up in the loft and digging out those few treasures that can be sold on Ebay - anyone need a bedpan?