I don’t know which was more challenging: the homemade tent on the beach in Holgate, first used by my grandparents in the 1920s, or the middle cabin on the Beach Haven dock. The tent promised a week of wet sand and unyielding canvas cots. The cabin was dark, gloomy and stuffy, especially with an extra relative invited by my father at the last minute.

Fishing was clearly a priority for the man of the “house” at both locations.