I closed my eyes as the floor boards of the Dingman’s Ferry Bridge rattled in response to our crossing. The unbroken conversation which had spanned the duration of our drive was interrupted by a sole-standing toll collector who welcomed us to the Pennsylvania town. When we crossed the small (yet terrifying) truss bridge, I exhaled a deep breath which I had been holding since the rubber of our tires first hit the wooden overpass. When we arrived at the lake house, it was dark, and the dark was only intensified by the surrounding woodland. Brian graciously allowed me to wait in the car while he opened the door and turned the lights on. (You never know. I was armed with leftover Chinese and the bears could…