On Swapping Vacations

Swapping tales of holiday experiences is a popular pastime. School themes by the score bear the title, ‘A Vacation Adventure,’ and magazine articles by the hundred the more modest heading, ‘How I Spent My Vacation.’ I was reading one of the latter the other day, when I fell to pondering upon our propensity to accept our adventures, especially our holiday adventures, at second hand. We keep up forever this exchange of yarns and stories. Why do we not instead swap the very concrete paraphernalia of vacations, the daily routine, the food, the acquaintanceship, the scenery of vacation experiences? If we could only trade off our vacations instead of buying them, how much expense we should save, how much adventure we should gain!

And the more I think over the idea of exchanging vacations, the more I like it. Why cannot I find a lighthouse keeper who will spend two weeks in my comfortable vine-covered cottage, while I live in his spotless white lighthouse and fish for flounders off his front door-step? I am sure his wife would enjoy my vegetable garden, potato bugs and all, for a brief two weeks. Why cannot a hard-working logger’s wife swap two weeks of camp-life, gunning, and mountain scenery, for the sophisticated comfort of a small suburban house? Why cannot a farmer, whose eighteenyear-old daughter has never seen a city, swap two weeks of snow-drifts, woodfires, and the best of winter sports, for a fortnight in somebody’s city flat? Why—but the possibilities are endless!

We need a bureau, a vacation exchange bureau. Its motto should be the old one, ‘ Variety is the spice of life.’ It could not fail to arouse deep interest. even enthusiasm. It would do many things. It would offer the virtuous man all the excitements of gambling without its dangers. Surely such a bureau would find me my lighthouse keeper. And ah, how well weeded would his careful wife find my garden!