What's Your Happy Place?

Have you seen Happy Gilmore 2?  We watched it last week. Though it wasn’t nearly as good as the original movie, I found it amusing, especially when Happy returns to his “Happy Place.”

I began to wonder, What’s my “Happy Place”? While I knew mine was nothing like Happy’s—a vision of meadow where his girlfriend’s wearing lingerie and holding two pitchers of beer—in less than five seconds I had my answer. My “Happy Place” was Porter’s Lake.

For many years, our family had a home in the Poconos Mountains, only two hours from where we lived. Let me clarify … it was a boathouse, overlooking Porter’s Lake. My grandparents first built our boathouse in the late fifties. Eventually, we put in indoor plumbing when I was a toddler. Throughout the years, additions and renovations became necessary for the four generations, my grandparents through our sons, who stayed there.

Our boathouse was part of a small, privately-owned association that was rustic and low-keyed. Home to six-hundred acres of gated forest, Porter’s Lake, the Pickerel Pond, and a beautiful waterfall, this no frills, meat and potatoes place was Porter’s Lake Hunting and Fishing Club … and I loved it.

Growing up, I spent many weekends at Porter’s Lake. Even though each season had its allure, summer was my favorite. Perhaps that’s because we “moved in” every August. Mom and I were there full-time, and my dad would drive to the Poconos Friday evenings, leaving early Monday to return for work.

Fishing, sailing, hunting for frogs and toads, water skiing, and exploring in the woods … that’s how I spent my days. At night, we’d play games, make popcorn, and do puzzles. I remember camping under the stars, finally feeling brave enough to swim the half mile across the lake, and being one of five water-skiers pulled behind our speedboat.

Porter’s Lake had community. An old lodge, dating back to 1900 with dorm-styled rooms for people to stay, was the hub. Each day, we went to the lodge for breakfast, promptly served at 8:30, then lunch at 1:00, and finally dinner at 6:00. A bell would ring thirty minutes prior to each meal, and then again, just as the doors were about to open. A steward and his family lived on property, caring for the land and preparing the food. Let’s just say some were better cooks than others.

Before dinner, we’d often gather at someone’s boathouse for cocktails. That’s where I learned how to talk to adults, drinking a Shirly Temple while eating crackers topped with Cheese Wiz (so early 70’s, right?). Sometimes there’d be an impromptu volleyball game following dinner. Or perhaps we’d head to Pickerel Pond to fish.

At Porter's Lake, there were no summer assignments, list of chores, or planned play dates. Instead, we had projects— like painting the fence or making a slalom course for waterskiing—hikes, and fishing contests. Each afternoon, we stopped at the local store to buy minnows for fishing or gas for the speed boat. I’d get a comic book and a candy bar. What more could a kid want?

This month in the Poconos felt like pure heaven … four weeks of nothing but play and relaxation. Then just before Labor Day—as the first hints of fall appeared on the trees—we’d return home, with a terrarium filled with toads and frogs.

But there was more to this experience than just fun and games. Growing up at Porter’s Lake taught me valuable life lessons. Yes, I learned how to skin a fish, shoot a trap gun, and sail a Sunflower boat. But Porter’s Lake also showed me the importance of playing fair, respecting my elders, and appreciating nature.

Eventually, our Augusts at Porter’s Lake came to an end. Once in high school, I had to attend pre-season tennis practice. Plus, I wanted to be with friends. Our family still spent time in the Poconos, but the stays became shorter.

When I got married, my husband joined Porter’s Lake. (I suppose that was the one negative … it only allowed male members.) But as our kids grew older, their soccer, basketball, and t-ball games were on weekends. Plus, they had birthday parties, Cub Scout events … and we had our own plans. Let’s just say “life” took over. And so, we left.

I still regret our sons missing out on activities I cherished … exploring the lake in an aluminum rowboat, driving snowmobiles on windy trails, and checking raised flags of the tip ups when ice fishing (while the adults stayed warm inside). Sometimes, I wonder what life would have been like had we stayed.

Almost fifty years since my last August at Porter's Lake, I realize how much I adored the ease and tranquility at the Lake. My summer is busy, filled with tee times, yoga, strength classes, concerts, and house guests. While I wouldn’t trade a minute of it, a part of me yearns for the freedom and lack of responsibilities Porter’s Lake offered. Oh, how I’d love to lie on the dock, with pieces of the green plastic carpet stuck to my Coppertone-coated skin. I want to watch lightning storms from our living room and walk barefoot on our rocky driveway. Fishing, hiking, and having coffee on the dock ... that was my “Happy Place.”

While I don’t have access to live on a lake, I suppose it’s possible to incorporate aspects of Porter’s Lake into my present life. Of course, I’d have to stop doing to allow time for being. But if I would, how magical might that be?

What is your "Happy Place"? Is it still available for you to visit? If so, do you go there? If not, can you bring a piece of it into your world?

We’re spending a few days at a lake in Idaho this fall. I know it’s not Porter’s Lake, but perhaps it will spark some happy moments of its own. Who knows, I could even find an entirely new “Happy Place.” Let's hope so.