Lake Remembrances

By Donna Chick

Spending summers on Ossipee Lake was as close to a perfect childhood as one could hope for. Grandparents were there, cousins were there, and all the tension that resided with us in Massachusetts, stayed in Massachusetts as we ran barefoot on pine needles. We didn’t have summer homes, we had rustic camps equipped with outhouses. My cousin and I earned 50 cents (each!) when we volunteered to paint the inside of the privy on the condition that our grandfather first remove the spiders. 

When at camp, we would wake early, put on our bathing suits, chow down some Frosted Flakes, and spend the rest of the day outside. We explored the woods, we built forts with whatever scraps of lumber we could find, and at the first clang of horseshoes we would run behind the neighbor’s house. There we would find the men, consisting of fathers, uncles, neighbors and grandparents, facing off in a high stakes game of horseshoes. We, the cousins, sat on a wooden bench to one side cheering on our fathers. It was the best sporting event I’ve ever been to! To this day, if I hear the clang of horseshoes, I go immediately back in time and enjoy a moment of nostalgia. 

It was in the water, though, where we spent most of our time. Performing cannon balls off the end of the dock while demanding of our mothers, “Watch this one!” we would splash with our arms in a frenzied game of freeze tag or just float on black inner tubes our fathers got from the dump. (We’d always get a rash from the rubber against our legs.)

Growing up, there was a certain amount of waiting. Waiting to be old enough to swim to the raft, waiting to walk to the store without an adult, waiting to sleep in our fort by ourselves (no adult ever offered to chaperone that adventure), waiting to take the rowboat out by ourselves all the way to the lily pads at the far side of the cove, and the biggest wait of all – taking our barge with its 5 HP Evinrude engine out and up the Bear Camp River without an adult overseer. 

Back in the 1950s, we had the Kingfisher, a worthy wooden motorboat owned by our grandfather. It held a respectable position among the other boats moored in Deer Cove, but the boat we truly loved was tied to the left side of the dock. The envy of fishermen far and wide. One of a kind. Homemade. The barge…a large wooden flat-bottomed boat wide enough to handle two webbed lawn chairs side by side and still leave room to inch by to move from stern to bow. It was probably 14 feet long and barn red. And unlike the Titanic, it truly was unsinkable. Rectangular in shape, there was a bow rail set high enough so my cousins and I could slide our legs under it and sit at the front of the boat with the rail across our bellies. Our feet would dangle in the water as the boat plowed forward and, using our toes, we could create interesting designs under the water.

The barge was often taken out before sunrise with fishermen onboard. They would troll the lake while we all slept. It was a great day when they came home with a Pickerel or Bass and, as we’d fly by, after eating our Frosted Flakes, we’d see them cleaning the fish on the wooden board fitted into the V of two trees beside the garage. 

 On other outings, the barge was cleaned out (as best as a flat bottom boat that always had some water in it, mixed with a little gas, could be cleaned out) and we all piled in, bringing lawn chairs for the women. We would head across the lake, and then veer to the right and head up Pine River to the Vagabond House Restaurant. I can’t remember if the food was any good. I can’t remember the inside of the restaurant at all. I do remember the thrill of getting there by boat and rolling down the embankment outside the restaurant. Life just couldn’t get any better – until . . .

  We were finally old enough to take the barge up the Bear Camp River by ourselves. Eight of us, all the cousins. My brother was the oldest, probably age 13 at the time. We all answered respectfully as we received our instructions. “Yes, we know to stay out of the lily pads. Yes, we know where the sand bar is and to swing wide to clear the point. Yes, we know how to pull the engine up if we go over a log in the river.”

Finally, we piled in the barge with life jackets on, a couple of those webbed chairs, and dry towels (which within minutes would carelessly be dropped in the gas infused water on the boat’s floor). Gleefully we waved goodbye to our uneasy parents. We had found freedom! We couldn’t wait to go around the point and be on our own! 

The adventure was all I ever wanted it to be. We went up the Bear Camp to the rope swing where we all took a turn. Further up, we took time to beach the boat and swim. And on the way home, in an uninhabited cove, we decided to explore in and around the lily pads. This would lead to our greatest adventure. I don’t remember which one of us, and I don’t know how, but someone spotted a turtle! It was as big around as a Roman soldier’s shield and we wanted it in the boat. We pulled out the long handled smelting net kept along the inside edge of the boat and chased after that turtle. Eight kids dashed around inside the barge shouting out, “It’s over here!” We’d all dash to look while my brother dipped the net. This went on for a long time until we must have exhausted the poor thing because we finally managed to net it and drag it over the side of the boat. Satisfied with our achievement, we headed home.

I don’t remember who was on the beach when we docked the boat, if anyone, but our shouts and screams had them all running before we tied up the boat. The moms were not impressed with our catch. The dads were. They got it out of the boat (they wouldn’t let us help, which seemed silly as we caught it in the first place). They explained to us it was a snapping turtle and they held a piece of driftwood in front of its powerful beak. The turtle immediately bit just to let us know how upset it was. We admired it for a while and then watched it push with its powerful front flippers toward the water and slip away.

Yes, life didn’t get any better than that!