1988年8月，我離開住房擁擠的上海才剛滿一個月。那時我還在為那寬敞的神奈川日本新居而心生竊喜，轉眼就跟著 J 跨過大洋，來到了 J 父母的家——位於紐約上州五指湖區（Finger Lakes）的庫卡湖（Keuka）附近，那裡丘陵起伏，風景宜人。一個月前，我曾接到 J 母親寄來的祝福信，信中說她家的房子雖然有些年頭了，但十分舒適，歡迎我來。
記得1988年8月16日，我第一次踏上美國疆土。在夏威夷機場入境轉機時，我驚恐地發現，兩個黑人中年婦女竟然是那麼的胖！豐滿的胸脯、渾厚的肩膀、粗壯的腰圍與翹盈盈的臀，正袒胸露臂、卻十分從容自信地坐在機場咖啡廳前吃喝交談。她倆的出現，把「胖子」這兩個字在我頭腦中原有形成的概念，徹徹底底地給否定了。心想，跟這兩位胖大嬸兒相比，我過去在國內見過的所有胖子，都不能再被稱為「胖子」了。
當我們飛抵紐約羅切斯特機場時，是 J 的父母親自開車來接的。看到兩位健朗的老人，我當時心裡感到一陣吃驚——他們都已經八十多歲了，怎麼竟然還能自己開車。以往在我的固有概念中，老人都是些行動遲緩、需要被特殊照顧的對象，在家庭中也往往是不再挑大梁、退居二線、甚至容易被小輩忽略的人了。這是我來到美國後受到的第二個驚詫。
J 父母的小白樓有一百多年的歷史了，上下大小一共有十來間屋子。包括後院在內，當時整整佔地3英畝。這裡平時就只住著 J 的父母、一隻叫 Miji 的小貓，和一條叫 Lady 的小狗。這在當時的我眼中，簡直是太奢侈了！僅僅一個多月的時間，我的住房條件就經歷了「三級跳」式的巨大變化，令我一時半會兒愣不過神來。想想一個月前在上海時的居住環境，我當時覺得這個世界簡直太不公平了。
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| 1988年的小白樓 |
小白樓正面左起第一根白柱子前，種著一棵齊腰高的柏樹。那是我和 J 一起去鄉間的苗圃，花了42塊美金買回來栽種的。原先那個位置長著一棵和右邊第一根白柱子前一模一樣的松樹，不知為什麼，J 非要砍掉左邊的那棵，換上一棵柏樹。不過，柏樹看起來確實比松樹要顯得更豐富一些。西方人沒有什麼忌諱，松樹和柏樹就這麼直接種在自家的院子裡。而在老北京的四合院兒裡，則是非常忌諱栽種松柏的。
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| 1988年小白樓東側 |
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| 1988年小白樓東側 |
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| 1989年在東陽台會客 |
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| 1988年在東陽台抱著狗狗喝咖啡 |
J 的母親在東側陽台的木柵欄上放了幾個長方形的花盆，裡面種著纖柔的矮牽牛花（Petunia）。這種花的花期很長，一朵朵像小喇叭似的盛開著。每當陽光明媚的晌午，抑或是細雨濛濛的日子，坐在陽台上，手捧一張報紙或一本書，端著一杯熱咖啡或一杯清茶，無論是享受獨處，還是與家人閒聊、與小貓小狗戲耍，日子都過得無比慵懶悠閒。
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| 1988年東陽台上 |
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| 我1990年畫的東陽台的花 The petunias grown by J’s mother—I painted them in 1990. |
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| 1988年東陽台上 |
後院里拉著晾衣服的繩子。雖然家裡備有烘乾機，但他們依然習慣在室外將衣服直接晾曬在陽光下，透著一種古樸與自在。這裡是自家的後院兒，絕不會有行人在你晾曬的衣服下面穿梭行走。
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| 1988年在後陽台上，我右手挎著晾衣服的繩子 In 1988, on the back balcony, I had my right arm draped over the clothesline. |
在小白樓的左後側，大約相隔十五米遠的地方，是一間兩層樓高的倉房，谷倉紅色，但那種紅是經過歲月磨損後的淡紅，呈現出一種讓人看上去很舒服、飽經風霜的色調。這一前一後、一白一紅兩棟樓房互相陪襯著，共同經歷了百年的滄桑，也默默見證了一個世紀的人間冷暖。
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| 2007年 |
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| 1992年J在修車 |
老倉房裡停著一輛看上去很氣派的1960年款黑色捷豹（Jaguar）轎車。為了保持通風，車裡放了一個小風扇，常年累月地開著。車內的皮革椅子等物件都保存得相當完好。四個車輪早已被 J 的父親卸了下來，單獨掛在牆上，整個車身由幾隻千斤頂穩穩地頂著。此外，倉房裡還堆滿了各式各樣的工具：台虎鉗、鐵鍬、鐵鎬、鐵耙、鋤頭、鐮刀、自動噴水器、手扶耕地機，所有能想到的中小型農具，在這裡可謂應有盡有。
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| 2002年5月 |
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| 2002年7月倉房北側長著核桃樹和楓樹 |
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| 1984年J的父親在打理菜園子 J's father was tending the vegetable garden in 1984. |
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| 2005年小溪流 |
花叢的東邊有一片由 J 父親親自打理的菜園子，菜園子的東側，還有一條緩緩流淌的小溪。倉房後面的西側有一溜高大的樹木與灌木叢，東側一直到小溪的則是一片開闊的草坪，那溜大樹一直向後延伸，連著草坪後面的一大片林子。
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| 谷歌地圖中的那一長溜當年是屬於他家的 |
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| 1988年後院的林子 |
J 的父親平時沒事的時候，就喜歡拿著一把長柄除草刀，在後院裡四處溜達。一旦看見有一種開著紫花的野草（Burdock），他就會立刻揮刀砍掉。因為那種草的花球球上長滿了毛刺，極易黏在人的褲腿上，或者沾在小貓小狗的身上。他還指給我看倉房後面的幾棵高大的核桃樹，地上四處散落著從樹上掉下來的青皮核桃，有的表面都已經發黑了。他說，這裡有些樹是他當年親手栽種的，那兩棵大柳樹則是12年前栽下的。核桃樹的邊上還長著幾棵楓樹，秋天種子隨風飄落時，就像空中有許多精巧的小螺旋槳在旋轉著降落。他還教我辨認小溪邊草叢裡生長的野藍莓。
很多年後我上網查詢才知道，那種被 J 父親嫌棄的 Burdock 野草，在國內原來叫牛蒡，又稱「東洋參」，既是中藥也是蔬菜，營養價值極高。1988年那會兒還沒有互聯網，要是早知道這牛蒡渾身是寶，其根、莖、葉都能食用，我當時一定會採來吃，至少也要嘗嘗味道。不過話說回來，那紫色的花確實挺漂亮的，只是那毛刺刺的球球黏在褲腿和小動物身上時比較麻煩，很難摘掉。
估計西方人過去不太了解這是一種寶貝。據說在太平洋戰爭期間，日本因糧食短缺，曾給英美戰俘吃牛蒡。而戰俘們不知道這是一種食物，以為日本人逼迫他們吃樹根，誤認為自己受到了虐待。這件事後來甚至被他們告到了國際法庭。
再說那野藍莓，也是許多年後我才知道它富含花青素，是個好東西。心裡不免有些後悔，當時以及後來在那兒住了幾年，竟然都沒想著摘點兒來吃。否則的話，如今自己也不會老得這麼快了。
J 的母親對院子裡所有的樹木、花草、飛鳥以及地上跑的小動物，都能順口說出牠們的名稱與種類。有一種鳥的叫聲聽起來像是「chick-a-dee-dee-dee」。後院的小溪邊，經常會有野火雞、野兔、野鴨子、狸貓和鹿等小動物出沒。
那年夏天，J 的姑姑和姑父大老遠地開了5個小時的車，專程從匹茲堡趕過來與我們見面。剛進門時，高大的姑父便張開雙臂，熱情地想要給我一個擁抱。我心裡明明知道這是西方的正常禮節，可我的身體硬是不聽使喚，在關鍵時刻硬是偏過了身子，只伸出一隻手去想跟他握手。老人當場就被我弄蒙了，雙臂尷尬地僵在了半空中。J 見狀笑著向他們解釋道：「東方的習俗不同，芬太害羞了。」隨後，我們六人一起去了塞尼卡（Seneca）湖邊、有一百多年歷史的貝爾赫斯特城堡（Belhurst Castle）用餐。
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| 1994年攝影課作業 |
那是一座羅馬復興風格的古堡，曾經是私人財產，後來被改建成了餐廳俱樂部。又過了幾天，9月4日，正值姑姑退休，我們還去參加了他們慶賀退休的家庭聚會。
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| 1988年9月4日J的姑姑家的自助餐 |
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| 後排左起 J 的姑父，J 的父親，我和 J 前排姑姑姑父的女兒，姑姑，和 J 的母親 |
1988年8月20日，J 帶著我去了他大學時代的好友 T 家。T 當年在威斯康辛大學讀的是數學碩士，如今卻在鄉下當起了一個地地道道的農場主。我當時心裡還十分納悶，一個讀數學的研究生，怎麼就跑來務農了。T 有三個可愛的孩子，大女兒那年8歲，性格很文靜；小男孩和小女兒則相當活潑調皮。
他們一共擁有170英畝的土地，其中100英畝栽種著有機玉米和黃豆，30英畝種著草料，還有40幾英畝是一片茂密的林子。家裡養了十來頭牛、好幾隻貓、一隻狗和一匹馬。他告訴我們，在美國養一頭乳牛，平均需要3到4英畝的草料供應。
T 每天必須給牛擠兩次奶，如果沒有按時去擠或者不小心忘了，牛奶的產量就會減少。為了保證能源源不斷地產出牛奶，母牛就必須處於不斷懷孕的狀態，聽說似乎全都是人工授精的。如此看來，奶牛這一輩子過得也滿辛苦的，幾乎老是無法休息。
T 極其勤勞。犁地、下種、除草、施肥、收割、入倉、打包、銷售、養牛、餵食、擠奶，每天起早摸黑地幹，忙得不亦樂乎。儘管他對這些工作已經熟悉到了他自己說：「閉著眼睛都能幹好」的地步，從不浪費一份力氣，但他家依然算不上富裕。
他們家的小女孩順手就能抓過一隻可愛的貓，一臉燦爛地將貓提溜到我面前，像是在展示她的戰利品一般。她那稚嫩的話語顯得有些不連貫，上氣不接下氣地朝我大聲介紹著那些不同的貓的種類、特徵與習性。而那些貓們，似乎也只能無奈地接受了這個小女孩看似魯莽的愛撫。
牛棚裡剛剛擠出來的熱牛奶，T 順手就倒出了半盆。剎那間，周圍的那些貓全都有感應似的呼呼地竄了過去，擁擠在一起爭先恐後地舔舐著盆裡的鮮奶。
他們一家的生活過得極其儉樸。T 的太太人很溫和，日常十分操勞，她也是他們的大學同學。她一個人既要帶三個孩子，又要打理自家吃菜的菜園子，整天忙忙碌碌的，根本顧不上收拾屋子。所以他們家裡顯得比較凌亂，沙發上、地上四處都堆著一堆一堆的衣服，也分不清到底是洗過的還是沒洗的。
很多年以後，我曾問過 T 有關牛奶的脂肪含量對人體健康的影響。T 對我說：「我們很窮，窮得家裡就只剩下牛奶了。我的孩子們全都是喝這種牛奶長大的，但你看，我們每個人都很健康。」我估計他們當年喝的就是未經加工的全脂鮮奶。但最關鍵的原因是，他們每個人平時都在進行大量的運動。孩子們整天忙著跑動，不需要刻意去鍛煉就很健康；而 T 作為農莊主，每天幹的都是重體力活，所以身體自然很好。
這座小村鎮裡一共也沒有幾條馬路，街上基本看不見行人。路邊散落著的小洋房別具一格，不單調也不重複，透著一派寧靜與祥和。這其實還僅僅是美國普通中產家庭退休後的住房條件。據說一般的美國人退休之後，都會選擇搬到這種偏遠、清靜、且物價相對便宜一些的地區來安度晚年，這裡確實是個理想的場所。
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| 1992年 |
村子裡的生活節奏十分緩慢，偶爾會有騎馬的人從家門口慢悠悠地路過。每逢週末，便能看到幾輛門諾派教徒（Mennonite）和阿米希人（Amish）的馬車，顛兒、顛兒地從路上駛過。這一帶居住著大量的門諾派與阿米希人，他們的宗教信仰、單純質樸以及與世無爭的日常生活習性，使得這片地區美麗的原生態風貌被完整地保存了下來。
我當時對 J 說：「這裡估計就像天堂一樣。」
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| 1988年 Keuka 湖 |
那段日子裡，我們還去湖裡游了幾次泳。這裡的州立公園和公共游泳水域，給那些不直接住在湖邊的人們，提供了平等享受大自然神奇與美麗的機會。湖水裡有戲水的，沙灘上有曬日光浴的，大樹下有燒烤的。
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| 1988年夏 |
五指湖區有大片大片綿延的葡萄園、高爾夫球場、露宿營地、遊艇俱樂部、風味餐館、環境幽雅的旅店，以及有錢人家的夏季別墅等。這裡還有許多度假房專門出租，供夏季的旅遊者前來使用。
許多前來度假的人們，開著休閒房車（RV），拖家帶口，後面還拉著小車、馱著自行車，成群結隊地來到湖邊的營地度假。
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The White House of the Finger Lakes, the Barn-Red Shed, and the Mathematician's Milk Barn
In August 1988, it had been barely a month since I departed from the cramped, overcrowded housing conditions of Shanghai. While I was still secretly rejoicing over the spaciousness of my new residence in Kanagawa, Japan, I found myself traveling across the ocean with J to the rolling hills and picturesque landscape of Upstate New York's Finger Lakes region . This was J’s parents’ home near Keuka Lake. A month prior, I had received a welcoming letter from J’s mother, in which she noted that while her house possessed considerable age, it was exceedingly comfortable, and she warmly anticipated my arrival.
I distinctly recall August 16, 1988, the very first time I stepped onto American soil. While passing through immigration and transferring flights at the Hawaii airport, I was astonished to observe two middle-aged Black women who were remarkably heavy. Possessing full busts, thick shoulders, broad waistlines, and prominent hips, they sat at an airport café entrance, completely at ease and filled with self-confidence, dressed in clothing that left their arms and necklines bare as they ate, drank, and conversed. Their presence utterly demolished the preconceived notions of the word "fat" that had long existed in my mind. I reasoned that compared to these two women, none of the heavy individuals I had previously encountered in China could ever be termed "fat" again.
When we arrived at the Rochester airport in New York, J’s parents drove out in person to receive us. Observing the robust elders, I was struck by a wave of surprise—both were already in their eighties, yet they were fully capable of driving an automobile on their own. In my past experience, elderly individuals were invariably slow-moving, dependent figures requiring constant care—individuals who no longer held authority, had retreated to the background, or were easily overlooked by the younger generations. This constituted my second great astonishment upon arriving in America.
The white frame house belonging to J’s parents possessed over a century of history, containing roughly ten rooms upstairs and down. Including the backyard, the property encompassed a full three acres. At the time, the entire estate was occupied solely by J’s parents, a small cat named Miji, and a little dog named Lady. In my eyes back then, this was nothing short of extraordinary luxury. In the span of a single month, my domestic housing conditions had leaped through a dramatic "triple jump," leaving me completely dazed for days. Reflecting on the crowded spaces of Shanghai just a month prior, I felt that the world was remarkably inequitable.
In front of the first white pillar on the left side of the house stood a waist-high cypress tree. J and I had driven out to a rural nursery and purchased it together for 42 dollars. Originally, that spot had been occupied by a pine tree identical to the one standing before the first white pillar on the right; for reasons unknown, J insisted on cutting down the left pine and replacing it with a cypress. However, the cypress did seem to possess a richer texture than the pine. Westerners harbored no superstitions regarding such matters, planting pines and cypresses directly within their residential yards. In contrast, planting pine and cypress trees within traditional courtyard homes of old Beijing was strictly taboo.
On the wooden railing of the eastern balcony, J’s mother had arranged several rectangular flower boxes planted with delicate petunias. These flowers boasted an incredibly long blooming season, opening wide like clusters of miniature trumpets. On bright, sunny noons or during misty, drizzling days, one could sit upon the balcony with a newspaper or a book, a cup of hot coffee or clear tea, enjoying solitude, conversing with family, or playing with the cat and dog as the days drifted by in a lazy, unhurried fashion.
The backyard was outfitted with a traditional clothesline. Though the household was equipped with an electric dryer, they maintained the habit of hanging their laundry outside to dry directly under the open sun, projecting an air of archaic simplicity and freedom. This was their own backyard, so there was no chance of pedestrians rushing beneath the damp garments.
Roughly fifteen meters to the rear-left of the main white house stood a two-story barn. It was finished in a classic barn-red hue, though it was a faded red worn thin by decades of weather—a comfortable, weathered tone that rested easy on the eyes. Standing together, one white and one red, these two centuries-old structures complemented one another, enduring a hundred years of changing seasons and bearing silent witness to a century of human life.
Sheltered within the old barn was a remarkably grand 1960 black Jaguar sedan. To maintain ventilation, a small electric fan inside the cabin ran continuously year-round. The leather seating and interior appointments remained in immaculate condition. J’s father had long since removed the four wheels, hanging them separately upon the wall, leaving the chassis securely elevated atop several mechanical jacks. Furthermore, the shed was packed with an array of manual tools: bench vises, iron shovels, pickaxes, rakes, hoes, scythes, automatic sprinklers, and a pedestrian rototiller—virtually every variety of small-scale agricultural implement was present.
Against the eastern wall of the barn grew a massive thicket of winter jasmine. In the early days of spring, amidst the dense, brown branches, a profusion of bright, tender yellow blossoms would burst forth first, while the deep green foliage would tarry for nearly a month before unfolding. To the east of the thicket lay a vegetable garden cultivated by J’s father, flanked on its eastern boundary by a gently murmuring creek. To the rear-west of the barn stood a row of mature trees and wild brambles, bordering a wide lawn that stretches all the way to the stream; that line of ancient trees stretched straight back into a forest.
When J’s father had leisure, he was fond of walking about the backyard carrying a long-handled weed slasher. The moment his eyes caught sight of burdock—a weed that put forth purple blossoms—he would instantly strike it down. The seed heads of the burdock were covered in stiff burrs that clung stubbornly to trouser legs and the fur of the cat and dog. He pointed out several towering walnut trees situated behind the barn, where the ground was littered with green-hulled walnuts dropped from the canopy, some already turning black with decay. He remarked that several of these trees had been planted by his own hands, and the two great willows had been set down twelve years prior. Beside the walnuts stood a few maples; when their seeds drifted down upon the autumn winds, they descended through the air like countless spinning miniature propellers. He also instructed me on how to identify wild blueberries growing among the grasses bordering the creek.
Many years later, when I researched the matter online, I discovered that the troublesome burdock weed was actually known as Niubang in China—also termed "Oriental Ginseng"—a highly nutritious plant utilized both as a herbal medicine and a vegetable. Back in 1988, the Internet did not exist; had I known that the burdock was entirely edible—its roots, stalks, and leaves all serving as sustenance—I would certainly have harvested it to cook, or at least sampled its flavor. Yet, looking back, those purple blossoms were genuinely beautiful, even if the burrs clinging to clothing and animal fur were a tedious nuisance to remove.
It seems Westerners in the past were largely unaware of its value. It is recorded that during the Pacific War, due to severe food shortages, the Japanese military fed burdock roots to British and American prisoners of war. Unaware that it was an edible plant, the prisoners believed they were being forced to consume tree roots and concluded they were being subjected to cruel mistreatment—an incident that they subsequently brought before an international tribunal.
As for the wild blueberries, it was similarly decades later that I learned they were packed with anthocyanins and held great health value. I felt a minor pang of regret that during my years residing there, I had never thought to gather them for food; otherwise, perhaps I would not have aged quite so rapidly now.
J’s mother could identify every tree, flower, wild bird, and animal traversing the grounds by its specific name and genus. There was a particular bird whose call sounded precisely like "chick-a-dee-dee-dee." Along the banks of the backyard creek, wild turkeys, rabbits, ducks, raccoons, and deer frequently emerged from the woods.
That summer, J’s aunt and uncle drove a full five hours from Pittsburgh specifically to meet us. Upon crossing the threshold, the towering uncle opened his arms wide, preparing to offer me a warm, Western-style embrace. Though I fully comprehended that this was standard custom in the West, my body simply refused to comply; at the critical second, I ducked my torso sideways and merely extended a hand to initiate a handshake. The old gentleman was entirely nonplussed, his arms freezing awkwardly in mid-air. Observing the encounter, J laughed and explained, "Eastern customs are different; Fen is simply too bashful." Afterward, the six of us dined at Belhurst Castle along the shore of Seneca Lake—a century-old Romanesque Revival structure that had transitioned from a private estate into a restaurant and club. A few days later, on September 4, to mark the aunt’s retirement, we attended a celebratory family gathering. In this photograph, the four individuals in the back row from the left are J’s uncle, J’s father, myself, and J. In the front row are his uncle and aunt’s daughter, his aunt, and J’s mother.
On August 20, 1988, J took me to visit T, his close companion from his university days. T had earned a Master’s degree in mathematics from the University of Wisconsin, yet he had chosen to settle in the countryside as a common farmer. At the time, I found it highly perplexing that a graduate student of mathematics would devote himself to agriculture. T was blessed with three lovely children: the eldest daughter was eight that year and possessed a serene demeanor, while the young boy and the youngest daughter were remarkably spirited and mischievous.
They owned a total of 170 acres of land, of which 100 acres were cultivated with organic corn and soybeans, 30 acres were set aside for hay, and over 40 acres comprised a dense woodland. Their livestock included a dozen cattle, several cats, a dog, and a single horse. He informed us that in America, maintaining a single dairy cow required an average supply of three to four acres of pastureland.
T was required to milk the herd twice daily without fail; if he delayed or forgot, the milk yield would immediately dwindle. To ensure a continuous supply of milk, the cows had to be kept in a perpetual state of pregnancy, achieved entirely through artificial insemination. Viewed thus, the life of a dairy cow was remarkably arduous, spent in a state of nearly unremitting labor.
T was an exceptionally industrious man. Plowing, sowing, weeding, fertilizing, harvesting, storing, packing, marketing, tending the herd, feeding, and milking—he labored from dawn until dusk, finding immense fulfillment in his toil. Though he was so thoroughly acquainted with these chores that he could execute them "with his eyes closed," never wasting an ounce of energy, his household remained modest rather than wealthy.
Their young daughter could casually scoop up a cat and march over to me with a radiant smile, hoisting the creature like a trophy of war. Her childish speech was breathless and disjointed as she boisterously explained the distinct breeds, traits, and temperaments of the various felines. The cats, for their part, appeared to have resigned themselves to the girl’s rough caresses.
From the fresh milk just drawn in the barn, T would casually pour out half a basin. In an instant, the farm cats would rush over from all quarters, crowding and jostling one another to lap up the warm milk.
The family’s domestic life was exceedingly frugal. T’s wife was a gentle, hardworking woman who had been their university classmate. Managing three children while tending a vegetable garden for the household’s sustenance kept her continuously occupied, leaving her with no leisure to tidy the residence. Consequently, the interior was somewhat disordered, with mounds of laundry scattered across the sofas and floors, making it impossible to discern which garments were clean and which were soiled.
Many years later, I questioned T regarding the impact of milk fat content on human health. T replied, "We are poor—so poor that we have nothing left in the house but milk. My children were raised entirely on this milk, yet as you can see, every one of us is in excellent health." I surmise that the milk they consumed back then was raw, unprocessed whole milk straight from the barn. However, the critical factor was that every member of the family engaged in rigorous physical activity. The children were constantly running about, requiring no conscious exercise to maintain health, while T, as a farmer, performed heavy manual labor daily, ensuring excellent physical conditioning.
The small rural township contained very few streets, and pedestrians were virtually absent from the roads. The small frame houses scattered along the ways were distinct in architecture, never uniform or repetitive, projecting a deep sense of serenity and peace. This constituted the typical housing standard for an ordinary American middle-class family in retirement. It is said that average Americans, upon retiring, frequently relocate to these remote, quiet, and economically advantageous regions to spend their twilight years; this area was indeed an ideal haven.
The pace of life in the village was remarkably measured; occasionally, someone on horseback would pass leisurely by the front door. On weekends, one could observe several horse-drawn buggies belonging to the Mennonites and Amish trotting along the roadway. This region was home to a large population of Mennonites and Amish, whose religious faith, simplicity, and unpretentious lifestyles ensured that the beautiful, pristine ecosystem of the area remained fully preserved.
I remarked to J at the time, "This place feels precisely like heaven."
During those summer days, we also went swimming in the lake on several occasions. The state parks and public swimming waters granted individuals who did not reside directly along the shoreline an equal opportunity to enjoy the beauty of nature. The waters were filled with people splashing about, sunbathers reclined upon the sand, and families gathered beneath the shade of mature trees to grill food.
Gazing along the expansive shoreline, the eye met vast, sweeping vineyards, golf courses, campgrounds, yacht clubs, local restaurants, elegant inns, and the summer homes of affluent families. Numerous vacation properties were available for rent, catering to the influx of summer tourists.
Many of these seasonal travelers arrived driving massive recreational vehicles (RVs), bringing their entire families along with towed utility trailers and bicycles mounted to the frames, converging upon the lakeside campgrounds to enjoy their summer holidays.
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Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.
第四百二十七篇
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