Every summer from second to sixth grade, my mom loaded me and my sister into the back of her Isuzu I-Mark for a girls' getaway to the Russian River. The little house she rented came complete with a tin rowboat tied up to the riverbank below. Every morning we would make up a plate of food — hard-boiled eggs, cold ham, pickles, and brown bread with butter — and row across the glassy water to a boulder in the middle of the river. After anchoring the boat to a knobby part of the rock, we'd eat our breakfast and watch... More >>>