chris parlin

Vivaldi’s Four Seasons is a paean that gives musical expression to each season of the year.  This contribution describes the nature of each season at Silver Bay and highlights what I did during each season from late childhood to my early teens. 

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Summer

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Summer is a glorious season,  Usually it is sunny, warm, and dry, and the lake is the perfect temperature for swimming.[1]  It also was the best season for me.  From ages 8 to 14 I was at the Bay all summer (something my younger cousins did not experience, nor will any future generations).  

 

Afternoons

Until I was twelve, I continued to go to Chippies on Monday to Saturday mornings, but they no longer were a significant part of my day.  What was important was afternoons spent at, and mostly in, the lake.  I was joined by Rob, Galen Seerup and Dale Sarjeant, from cottages[2] to the south of us.  Frequently Dale’s older sister Danny (Daniella) joined in.  We would race to the raft to see who was the fastest (usually me) and see who could get the farthest underwater (almost always I was beaten).  Trying to stand on an inner tube and general rough housing were also frequent components of our play. 

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One of my favorite activities was water skiing.  Rob has written about ceaseless hours with Uncle Hal giving multiple turns to each of us.  Mrs. Sarjeant (Dale and Danny’s mother) also spent hours driving their boat for us.  Sometimes Mrs. Sarjeant attached two ropes and Danny and I skied at the same time, ending up holding hands as we glided to a stop. We were not girlfriend/boyfriend, but I liked doing this with her very much. 

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All this was fun, but rag tag was the top of the top[3]  The game started out as ball tag, using a tennis ball, but this quickly was dropped because whether the ball hit someone or missed, it would sail a long distance.  I believe Galen invented rag tag.  At the start the rules were quite simple.  The game was played on the raft.  The person who was “it” attempted to hit another with a wet rag, in which case that person would be “it”.   The ladder on the raft provided a safe harbor.  Anyone on it was free from being tagged until another reached it untagged.  Then, the first person lost immunity.  That was it.  Splashing around the rag, but not touching it was quickly added.  (If you touched the rag, you were “it”).  In the beginning no one swam under the raft, and the practice of filling the rag with mud soon was prohibited. 

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Afternoons zipped by.  Eventually, though, we had to stop for dinner.  After that there were programs for older children and young adults that we attended at the Association.

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Evenings

As soon as dinner was over, we ran down the Friendship Trail to the Association for an evening activity.  (When I was twelve, I bought a boat, which we often used instead of running).  There was something scheduled starting at 7:30 each evening except Sunday.[4]  The programs were open to cottagers as well as on-campus guests. 

I can’t recall what the event was on Mondays. 

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Tuesdays and Thursdays were square dance nights in Fisher Gym.  Unlike today, a crowd ranging in age from 5 to 80+ participated.  Danny and I were partners until my mother “grounded” me for a week because of the cardinal sin of being 10-15 minutes late for dinner.  During that week Danny found a new partner and she ceased being a part of my life.

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Wednesdays were movie nights.  They showed B grade films whose copyrights had expired.  The only film I remember was Last of the Mohicans, and that was because of a scene where the cast supposedly was swimming in the Hudson River (or Lake Champlain or Lake George), but they obviously were in a swimming pool. 

At this time the store was managed by Mr. Shuman, who, I think, hated people.  The store closed at ten but the movie frequently lasted 10 or 15 minutes after ten.  Despite knowing that several dozen people would want post-movie ice cream or sodas, Mr. Shuman would lock the door precisely at ten.  I can remember him doing this even when he obviously saw people coming to the store.  Why management put up with his behavior I will never know. 

Friday nights there was a campfire.  I had male friends, but they have faded from my memory.  I still remember two girls, on the other hand – Patty Price and Sylvie Fayolle.  In fact, Sylvie became my first girlfriend.   I learned many folk songs, which were new to me then, but which I can remember to this day 60 years later. 

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Saturday nights there was a dance party for young teens.  A variety of songs were played on a record player.  I danced to everything but particularly enjoyed the slow songs (like the Beach Boys’ In My Room). 

Eventually the summer ended – the last square dance, movie, campfire, and dance party were over – and we went back to our hometowns. 

 

Autumn

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Fall was a bittersweet time.  In mid-October, the oaks and sugar maples were ablaze with vibrant colors.  Yet, as October wore on, the nights became chilly, the leaves fell, and winter lurked. 

My family drove to the Bay for long Columbus Day weekends.  Once (maybe twice) when I was six and Rob four, we stayed in the Cabin.  There is a picture of the two of us with kiddie shovels.  You could crawl under the porch then, and Rob and I spent the better part of one day “digging to China”.  I don’t think we got there, but we had lots of fun. 

 

In subsequent years we stayed in the Farmhouse, subsequently torn down and replaced with Kaye’s house.  It was a quaint old house, but there was no digging or anything else of note. The main activity was cidering, which Rob has covered in depth in one of his contributions.[5]  Old Man Winter arrived, bringing much colder weather and until recently a lot of snow. 

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Winter

 

Our family would come to the Bay for the Lincoln’s Birthday and Washington’s Day long weekends.  Rob has written about the toboggan “ride from Hell” and gathering and making maple syrup. 

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There were many more toboggan rides, at the Association, Arcady and, believe it or not, on the northern boundary of Uncle Stew’s property (now Kathryn, Ruth, and Al’s).  Sixty to sixty-five years ago Uncle Stew’s property and the meadow across the “dirt road” (now paved) were grassy.  There were no small trees or other impediments to a great ride.  We would start at the top of the hill at Uncle Stew’s, race over the cover of the septic tank, sail through the air, clear the dirt road and end far into the meadow. 

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When the ice was thick (it usually was in February) Rob and I would skate on the lake.  (I never fell in, but a few times it was close).  Sometimes we would get a blanket and go sail skating across the lake, going as far as O’Dell Island.  We also had some epic snowball fights with cottagers to the south who also were up for the long weekends. 

Syruping occurred around the Washington’s Day holiday.  The weather had to be above freezing during the day and below freezing at night.  This signaled the eventual end of Winter, though it would hang on tenaciously until mid to late March. 

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Mud Season

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In the North Country and Vermont, the end of Winter is followed by the mud season – boot- sucking, all-pervasive mud.  The less said about it the better. 

 

Spring

 

Eventually the mire disappears and Spring in all its glory arrives.  The trees and bushes bud, then leaf.  The apple trees and other fruit trees blossom.  There is hope.  Summer is around the corner.  It wasn’t until I was a member of the “early crew” of Emps at the Association[6] and then after I retired in 2015 that I was able to experience the beauties of Spring. 

 

As with Vivaldi, the cycle of seasons comes to an end and a new one replaces it.                                                               

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[1] 2023 was a horrible exception -- rainfall was prodigious and smoke from wildfires in Canada choked the sky.

 

[2] In the North Country, and in Vermont any summer home is referred to as a “cottage”.  The Big House, for example, would be referred to as a cottage,

[3] Any younger cousin who claims to have invented rag tag is 100% incorrect.  Our group did so in 1959 or 1960 when the younger crowd either was in diapers or was not yet born.   

[4] To me Sundays were “no fun” days.  The obligatory attending of the weekly church service in the Auditorium was tedious and when the service was Lutheran or Episcopal the hymns were unsingable.  Give me a rousing Methodist or Baptist hymn. 

[5] Rob ends saying he doesn’t know what happened to the cider press.  It was kept in the Big House garage unused for many years.  A couple of years ago Ken brought it out and resurrected the cider-making.  That has continued since. 

 

[6] In the early 1960’s the Association was open only from early June until the end of September.  The “early crew” of Emps was responsible for getting everything ready for the opening of the summer season. 

 

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