CLICK HERE for a biography of Erastus Everson http://www.18thmass.com/blog/index.php?itemid=267 The following from Don Blauss' Blog - Written by Eric and Wes - Contributed by Don Blauss Sometime in the course of every summer, before the arrival of the youngest sisters Debbie and Heather, Mom and Dad would pack their six children into the station wagon, along with piles of bedding and beach towels, two weeks’ worth of food, diapers, kerosene, oarlocks, mosquito repellent, beer, Band-Aids, and all the other supplies necessary for a vacation at the island, the only vacation affordable to a family of limited means. For the Blausses it was a little leftover bit of Eden enjoyed for a couple of weeks, and a couple of long weekends every summer. Parental preparation loomed large, but for the six children it promised nothing but fun, fun, fun. Packed to near bursting with provisions, the Chevrolet beach wagon waited in the dirt driveway at 30 Phillips Street as everyone piled in on a Saturday morning in July. Dad had a week’s vacation from Peaceful Meadows, and was eager himself to sit on the porch of the two-room cottage, cradle a bottle of beer, and, as he so often said with a contented grin, "watch the rest of the world go by." The cat was always the last passenger to load in. Then, last minute bathroom runs completed and all in readiness, doors slammed, the car motor rumbled to life, and the journey commenced. At Lloyd Prario’s service station on Main Street, just beyond the deserted Hanson railroad station, with the smell of gasoline rising through the tailgate window, Dad would gas up the car for the big trip. Eighteen miles away high adventure and sweet relaxation waited. Wesley, Laurie, Donnie, Marlene, Eric, and Dave could hardly wait. Long years afterward the smell of gasoline still reminded Eric of going to Brant Rock, where the Green Harbor River joined the Atlantic, a salty smell of passion that bonded him and his siblings forever to the sea. The oil checked and the tank fueled up, and with a friendly good-bye from Lloyd as he stepped back inside to work on his perfectly-detailed dollhouses and model country stores, Dad would turn the car southeast down Route 27. Moments later Laurie would burst into song: "Oh, you can’t go to Heaven In a rocking chair ‘Cause the Lord don’t want No lazy bones there," with the brothers and sisters gleefully joining in, repeating each line in an ebullient echo. Verses followed for each family member: "Oh, you can’t go to Heaven In Daddy’s car ‘Cause the darned old thing Won’t go that far." Nor would Mommy’s boat, Wes’s pants, Laurie’s bike, or any other number of bright ideas provide the requisite transportation to Paradise. "The Ants Go Marching" came next, or "One more river, and that wide river is Jordan," with a succession of sing-along favorites close behind, and the singing didn’t stop until the familiar sights and smells of the coast caught the children’s attention. Next to Dad sat Little Dave in the car seat with its own plastic steering wheel and horn. Mom rode shotgun position, turned sideways to accompany the chorus of high-pitched voices. The Blauss family was going to the island! After a whole year they were on their way again. The thought of salt water, clam shells everywhere, crabs side-stepping under the wharf, periwinkles or snails clinging to the wooden posts that held up the dock, waiting for the tide to rise again, kept the kids in high anticipation. And for Eric, in the rough years that followed, the smell of beach roses always brought on the longing for and refreshed the vision of those hot, safe island days. From Hanson through Pembroke and Duxbury, along King Philip’s Path and over the bridge at Route 3 the overcrowded vehicle groaned happily. Soon they had reached the north end of Duxbury Bay’s extensive salt marsh and then the historic Winslow house and the sign for Camp Cedar Crest. They recognized they were close now. The old Chevrolet passed a few