RDP Saturday: bungalow

Written for RDP where we’re asked to
get creative with the word “bungalow”.

It was the summer of 1973; being the original thinkers that we were, we dubbed it our “Summer of Love”. Married just one year, Bill and I, along with his twin brother and sister-in-law, and another married couple who were our good friends, rented a bungalow in Hampton Bays, NY. At the time, Hampton Bays was the poor cousin to places such as East Hampton, South Hampton or even Montauk. It was rustic …. one might even say “bare bones”. It was also the only place we could afford.

The entire interior of the house was paneled in dark brown wood and, with just one window in the living room, the front door, and a tiny window in the kitchen, it was never bright inside. The front room was a small open space which acted as the living room/dining room. On the left side was a sofa, a couple of side chairs and, oddly, a bunk bed set up in the corner; we figured that was the “guest room”, with a very loose interpretation of the word “room”.

On the opposite side of the front room against the wall was a large picnic table with attached benches which acted as the dining room. It was covered with a bright red plastic tablecloth with white polka dots and there were times  when it was impossible to distinguish our quaaludes from the white dots. Behind and to the right of the dining room wall was the narrow, galley-style kitchen and small bathroom …. the only bathroom in the bungalow.

At the back of the house were the windowless bedrooms. Originally there were two bedrooms but the owner of the bungalow slapped up another wall with a folding door and called it a third bedroom. There was very little privacy but we were poor and young and didn’t care … we didn’t even mind that the one AC in the house was broken.

We had the best time out there! We’d drive out on Friday night after work, throw our stuff into the bedrooms and head out for a night of clubbing. We’d roll in around 2 or 3 AM, turn on the music, get stoned, and crash around dawn. Saturday we’d resurface around noon and hit the beach where we stayed until 6-ish, oblivious to the heat and the sunburns on our backs and arms. After the beach and a shower, we’d hit the clubs again. Sundays, after breakfast at the Hampton Bays Diner, we’d clean up the bungalow, make a run to the town dump to get rid of garbage, pack up, and head back home, already looking forward to returning the following weekend.

The summer of ’73 was grungy, sandy, hot, crowded, and often uncomfortable but we never minded. We were free, entirely on our own with no parents checking in and no bosses to answer to. It was one of the most formative times of our young lives and we enjoyed every minute. It is a time we look back on with very fond memories and often wonder how we survived it all. One thing is certain: we loved life, we lived it on our terms, never hurting anyone else, and coming away with more amazing experiences we could ever hope for. And now our grandkids think Grammy and Grampy were pretty cool once upon a time. They’re not wrong.

NAR©2026

This is “Born To Be Wild” by Steppenwolf

RDP SATURDAY: BUNGALOW

^{Everything on The Elephant’s Trunk was created by me, except where otherwise indicated. Thanks for your consideration. NAR©2017-present.}