Blueberry Island. My yearly cabin trip with a group of friends.

Drinking and various games of skill (or lack thereof).

Meador and Nick (far) are doing well at washers. At least, they're doing better than Trupe and I. The washers Trupe and I throw keep falling way short of the washer box. Eventually they start landing closer to the box, sometimes even bouncing against the side, but still rarely going in.

Trupe: This is brutal.
Me: Well, at least we're getting closer.
Trupe: You mean emotionally?