For a month every summer I took my children to Lake Winnipesaukee near Alton, New Hampshire, where my parents had built a simple cottage, adding an attached bunkhouse when the grandchildren started arriving. We were deep in the woods away from city life, swimming a good part of the day, fishing off the breakwater, canoeing, and enjoying an occasional ride around the islands in the old gray motorboat my father skippered. And now and then we would borrow a Sail Fish from the neighbors and venture into the “Broads,” an expanse of water that stretched in front of our shore. When the winds came up it was a dangerous place to be if you were in any kind of boat. But what excitement there was to watch a storm sweep toward us, waves as high as the ocean. We had to scurry to take in the tents and deck furniture, after which we’d all hover in front of the large picture window, hoping that one of the tall pine trees didn’t fall on the house. And when it was all over we’d invariably be treated to a sunset, glorious to behold!
There was always work to be done around the place…fixing the road, clearing rocks off the lake bottom and using them to shore up trees leaning dangerously close to the water, clearing brush, and chopping wood for our voracious fireplace. We had no television and one old Stromberg Carlson record player that dropped my father’s favorite classical or jazz records from a spindle. It was idyllic.
This experience was supplemented by two excellent summer camps, one for the boys and one for the girls, where I taught music part-time, to help with the fees. I was determined that my children should experience backpacking in the mountains while learning rugged outdoor camping skills. These, of course, were used in our many subsequent trips into the Mahoosucs and Mt. Katadhin in Maine, the White Mountains in New Hampshire, and our backpacking trips in Europe and throughout the U.S.
The remaining month of the summer was spent at a variety of activities like instrumental music camp or the “Y”day camp or a dance school for Martha.
I soon realized, however, that we needed somewhere in New Jersey to swim. I have never liked pools, and the lakes of Sussex County were just too far away. It was the time when swim clubs were being introduced, but they were few and far between and the cost was prohibitive. We tried a few, but they were highly regulated and crowded, and pools and artificial lakes were hard for me to get used to after the sparkling water and sandy beaches of Lake Winnipesaukee. One place, however, was recommended to me by several neighbors, all from the old Bell Telephone Laboratory in Murray Hill, and all what I call intellectual hippies. Like me, they enjoyed un-choreographed situations where the children were free to explore and entertain themselves. And they had heard of a place in Chatham affectionately called Valley’s Mud Hole, where Mr. Valley charged $75.00 a family to use his natural woodland pond. No lifeguards, minimal sand, simple outhouse, and situated in a private forest of deciduous trees. Bring your own blanket, lawn chair, and sandwiches. And stay as long as you wish. Casual to a fault.
The kids were in heaven! They never noticed the encroaching milfoil, the mud, or the fact that you had to be sure not to drop anything precious into the water for fear you’d never find it again. And they had plenty of companions to splash around with. At the same time the adults enjoyed a great deal of freedom and lively conversation. Who cares if you had to bathe when you got home? A little mud never hurt anyone!
Alas, we tried to find the old mud hole in recent years and it seems to have been filled in and replaced by a large group of condominiums. The woods are gone and a shopping center has replaced the pillared home of Mr. Valley, which overlooked the “lake.”
I felt a certain sadness mixed with nostalgia as I looked at the predictable uniformity of the neatly spaced condos next to the new shopping center. Our lovely woodland getaway was gone, erased, along with Mr. Valley’s stately abode at the head of our happy little pond. The “Garden State” was fast receding, as modernity and urban living sneaked slowly, but surely, into its space.
I wonder if anyone would take their children to our long-lost pond in these days. I wonder if I would.
