Open Water, Part 1
Yearning for my childhood Golden Pond
A Decade of Decadence? Perhaps.
Bali Hai fruit wine (mixed with 7Up) is pretty dang tasty to an eleven year old. I oughta know. My parents, Dartt1 and Jeanne, would let me fix my own cocktails during “happy hour” at my grandparents’ cabin overlooking Newboro Lake.
Even Pattie, the Boxer/Basset mix, got in on the party, shelling peanuts on the deck and scarfing the meat. It was the 70s.
In the 30s the Canadian government enticed vacationers like Kenny and Grandma to try homesteading in order to spur economic activity. I was always told they paid one dollar for their one acre island.
If you recall anything from the film On Golden Pond, keep that feeling for the moment. If you’re not familiar, I’ve attached two videos below, one a utopian vision of lake life and the other one purely sentimental.
Our island paradise sat 2.5 miles from the village of Newboro with no road or mainland access. Hence, reachable by water only.
It was rustic with screens on every side, a fireplace (rarely used), and a fastidious toilet. The green exterior was blazoned with large white letters spelling “Ken’s Yen.”
I still very much “yen” for the lake and its allurements: Petting the slimy backs of bull frogs the size of hamsters, catching my breath in Kenny’s gorgeous Peterborough boat, and falling asleep to the songs of swooning loons.
Ken’s Yen introduced me to natural water, the kind that laps at docks and smells like life itself: Slightly scented by seaweed and teaming with fish.
It’s summer in Penn’s Woods, and my yearning for natural water is peaking. I find myself dipping my feet, cupping my hands, or immersing my whole body in it wherever possible.
With the impetuous fisherman Simon Peter (who had a thing for water) I say:
Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!”2
Craw Dad
When trekking up to see Mom in Lewisburg I can’t help but stop along Route 15 near the village of Liverpool to take in a small park along the Susquehanna River.
Shoes come off. I step over wet bedrock and through silt to wade out, current on my thighs, and admire the picturesque rapids.
I hold back from diving in, preferring to respect the river’s awesome power. One summer, though, I rode my small canvas raft through the current.
It’s a perfect spot to catch crayfish. Steeling my courage to press my fingers on the back of one of these little guys without getting pinched is one of my rites of Summer.
I’m due for my first capture of 2025.
Twilight on Golden Pond
In 1976 without any consultation with my dad or warning to the rest of us, our elder Beckers sold the island.3
In the words of the 1983 song by The Motels:
And then suddenly
Last Summer.
On Golden Pond Videos
I wouldn't have been allowed to storm a boat as this kid did, so I'll call this a fantastical dream sequence. Familiar vibes, though! 🙌🏼😄🤣This is the trailer for 😭This name should be held in escrow by the reader. It’ll make an important appearance in the next Open Waters installment.
John’s Gospel, chapter 13, verse 9, ESV.
The homesteading era was over, and Canadians were getting incentives to take back such vacation spots.
I remember going to the cabin! I have photos of my mom and dad there with me catchng a sunfish off the dock. Great memory. Thanks, my nephrew. 🥰