E. B.

White

Once More to the Lake

E.B.White,borninMountVernon,NewYorkin1899,isidentifiedinsomecirclesasthewriterofsketches, poems,editorials,andessaysfortheNewYorkermagazineandinothersastheauthorofthechildrensbooks StuartLittle(1945)andCharlottesWeb(1952).Writerswithalllevelsofexperience,fromhighschoolstudentsto professionaleditorsalsoknowhimforhisrevisionofWillardStrunkJr.sTheElementsofStyle(1959).

Onesummer,alongabout1904,myfatherrentedacamponalakeinMaineandtookusallthereforthemonthof August.WeallgotringwormfromsomekittensandhadtorubPondsExtractonourarmsandlegsnightandmorning, andmyfatherrolledoverinacanoewithallhisclothesonbutoutsideofthatthevacationwasasuccessandfromthen onnoneofuseverthoughttherewasanyplaceintheworldlikethatlakeinMaine.Wereturnedsummerafter summeralwaysonAugust1stforonemonth.Ihavesincebecomeasaltwaterman,butsometimesinsummerthere aredayswhentherestlessnessofthetidesandthefearfulcoldoftheseawaterandtheincessantwindwhichblows acrosstheafternoonandintotheeveningmakemewishfortheplacidityofalakeinthewoods.Afewweeksagothis feelinggotsostrongIboughtmyselfacoupleofbasshooksandaspinnerandreturnedtothelakewhereweusedtogo, foraweeksfishingandtorevisitoldhaunts. 2. Itookalongmyson,whohadneverhadanyfreshwateruphisnoseandwhohadseenlilypadsonlyfromtrain windows.OnthejourneyovertothelakeIbegantowonderwhatitwouldbelike.Iwonderedhowtimewouldhave marredthisunique,thisholyspotthecovesandstreams,thehillsthatthesunsetbehind,thecampsandthepathsbehind thecamps.IwassurethatthetarredroadwouldhavefounditoutandIwonderedinwhatotherwaysitwouldbe desolated.Itisstrangehowmuchyoucanrememberaboutplaceslikethatonceyouallowyourmindtoreturnintothe grooveswhichleadback.Yourememberonething,andthatsuddenlyremindsyouofanotherthing.IguessI rememberedclearestofalltheearlymornings,whenthelakewascoolandmotionless,rememberedhowthebedroom smelledofthelumberitwasmadeofandofthewetwoodswhosescententeredthroughthescreen.Thepartitionsinthe campwerethinanddidnotextendcleartothetopoftherooms,andasIwasalwaysthefirstupIwoulddresssoftlyso asnottowaketheothers,andsneakoutintothesweetoutdoorsandstartoutinthecanoe,keepingclosealongtheshore inthelongshadowsofthepines.Irememberedbeingverycarefulnevertorubmypaddleagainstthegunwaleforfearof disturbingthestillnessofthecathedral. 3. Thelakehadneverbeenwhatyouwouldcallawildlake.Therewerecottagessprinkledaroundtheshores,andit wasinfarmingalthoughtheshoresofthelakewerequiteheavilywooded.Someofthecottageswereownedbynearby farmers,andyouwouldliveattheshoreandeatyourmealsatthefarmhouse.Thatswhatourfamilydid.Butalthoughit wasntwild,itwasafairlylargeandundisturbedlakeandtherewereplacesinitwhich,toachildatleast,seemed infinitelyremoteandprimeval. 4. Iwasrightaboutthetar:itledtowithinhalfamileoftheshoreButwhenIgotbackthere,withmyboy,andwe settledintoacampnearafarmhouseandintothekindofsummertimeIhadknown,Icouldtellthatitwasgoingtobe prettymuchthesameasithadbeenbeforeIknewit,lyinginbedthefirstmorning,smellingthebedroom,andhearing theboysneakquietlyoutandgooffalongtheshoreinaboat.IbegantosustaintheillusionthathewasI,andtherefore, bysimpletransposition,thatIwasmyfather.Thissensationpersisted,keptcroppingupallthetimewewerethere.Itwas notanentirelynewfeeling,butinthissettingitgrewmuchstronger.Iseemedtobelivingadualexistence.Iwouldbein themiddleofsomesimpleact,Iwouldbepickingupabaitboxorlayingdownatablefork,orIwouldbesaying something,andsuddenlyitwouldbenotIbutmyfatherwhowassayingthewordsormakingthegesture.Itgavemea creepysensation. 5. Wewentfishingthefirstmorning.Ifeltthesamedampmosscoveringthewormsinthebaitcan,andsawthe dragonflyalightonthetipofmyrodasithoveredafewinchesfromthesurfaceofthewater.Itwasthearrivalofthisfly thatconvincedmebeyondanydoubtthateverythingwasasitalwayshadbeen,thattheyearswereamirageandthere hadbeennoyears.Thesmallwaveswerethesame,chuckingtherowboatunderthechinaswefishedatanchor,andthe boatwasthesameboat,thesamecolorgreenandtheribsbrokeninthesameplaces,andunderthefloorboardsthe samefreshwaterleavingsanddebristhedeadhellgrammite,thewispsofmoss,therustydiscardedfishhook,thedried bloodfromyesterdayscatch.Westaredsilentlyatthetipsofourrods,atthedragonfliesthatcameandwells.Ilowered thetipofmineintothewater,tentatively,pensivelydislodgingthefly,whichdartedtwofeetaway,poised,dartedtwofeet
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back,andcametorestagainalittlefartheruptherod.Therehadbeennoyearsbetweentheduckingofthisdragonfly andtheotheronetheonethatwaspartofmemory.Ilookedattheboy,whowassilentlywatchinghisfly,anditwasmy handsthatheldhisrod,myeyeswatching.IfeltdizzyanddidntknowwhichrodIwasattheendof. 6. Wecaughttwobass,haulingtheminbrisklyasthoughtheyweremackerel.pullingthemoverthesideoftheboat inabusinesslikemannerwithoutanylandingnet,andstunningthemwithablowonthebackofthehead.Whenwegot backforaswimbeforelunch,thelakewasexactlywherewehadleftit,thesamenumberofinchesfromthedock,and therewasonlythemerestsuggestionofabreeze.Thisseemedanutterlyenchantedsea,thislakeyoucouldleavetoits owndevicesforafewhoursandcomebackto,andfindthatithadnotstirred,thisconstantandtrustworthybodyof water.Intheshallows,thedark,watersoakedsticksandtwigs,smoothandold,wereundulatinginclustersonthebottom againstthecleanribbedsand,andthetrackofthemusselwasplain.Aschoolofminnowsswamby,eachminnowwithits small,individualshadow,doublingtheattendance,soclearandsharpinthesunlight.Someoftheothercamperswerein swimming,alongtheshore,oneofthemwithacakeofsoap,andthewaterfeltthinandclearandinsubstantial.Overthe yearstherehadbeenthispersonwiththecakeofsoap,thiscultist,andherehewas.Therehadbeennoyears. 7. Uptothefarmhousetodinnerthroughtheteeming,dustyfield,theroadunderoursneakerswasonlyatwotrack road.Themiddletrackwasmissing,theonewiththemarksofthehoovesandthesplotchesofdried,flakymanure.There hadalwaysbeenthreetrackstochoosefrominchoosingwhichtracktowalkinnowthechoicewasnarroweddownto two.ForamomentImissedterriblythemiddlealternative.Butthewayledpastthetenniscourt,andsomethingaboutthe wayitlaythereinthesunreassuredmethetapehadloosenedalongthebackline,thealleysweregreenwithplantains andotherweeds,andthenet(installedinJuneandremovedinSeptember)saggedinthedrynoon,andthewholeplace steamedwithmiddayheatandhungerandemptiness.Therewasachoiceofpiefordessert,andonewasblueberryand onewasapple,andthewaitresseswerethesamecountrygirls,therehavingbeennopassageoftime,onlytheillusionofit asinadroppedcurtainthewaitresseswerestillfifteentheirhairhadbeenwashed,thatwastheonlydifferencethey hadbeentothemoviesandseentheprettygirlswiththecleanhair. 8. Summertime,ohsummertime,patternoflifeindelible,thefadeprooflake,thewoodsunshatterable,thepasture withthesweetfernandthejuniperforeverandever,summerwithoutendthiswasthebackground,andthelifealongthe shorewasthedesign,thecottageswiththeirinnocentandtranquildesign,theirtinydockswiththeflagpoleandthe Americanflagfloatingagainstthewhitecloudsinthebluesky,thelittlepathsovertherootsofthetreesleadingfrom camptocampandthepathsleadingbacktotheouthousesandthecanoflimeforsprinkling,andatthesouvenircounters atthestoretheminiaturebirchbarkcanoesandthepostcardsthatshowedthingslookingalittlebetterthantheylooked. ThiswastheAmericanfamilyatplay,escapingthecityheat,wonderingwhetherthenewcomersatthecampatthehead ofthecovewerecommonornice,wonderingwhetheritwastruethatthepeoplewhodroveupforSundaydinnerat thefarmhousewereturnedawaybecausetherewasntenoughchicken. 9. Itseemedtome,asIkeptrememberingallthis,thatthosetimesandthosesummershadbeeninfinitelyprecious andworthsaving.Therehadbeenjollityandpeaceandgoodness.Thearriving(atthebeginningofAugust)hadbeenso bigabusinessinitself,attherailwaystationthefarmwagondrawnup,thefirstsmellofthepineladenair,thefirst glimpseofthesmilingfarmer,andthegreatimportanceofthetrunksandyourfathersenormousauthorityinsuch matters,andthefeelofthewagonunderyouforthelongtenmilehaul,andatthetopofthelastlonghillcatchingthefirst viewofthelakeafterelevenmonthsofnotseeingthischerishedbodyofwater.Theshoutsandcriesoftheother camperswhentheysawyou,andthetrunkstobeunpacked,togiveuptheirrichburden.(Arrivingwaslessexciting nowadays,whenyousneakedupinyourcarandparkeditunderatreenearthecampandtookoutthebagsandinfive minutesitwasallover,nofuss,noloudwonderfulfussabouttrunks.) 10. Peaceandgoodnessandjollity.Theonlythingthatwaswrongnow,really,wasthesoundoftheplace,an unfamiliarnervoussoundoftheoutboardmotors.Thiswasthenotethatjarred,theonethingthatwouldsometimesbreak theillusionandsettheyearsmoving.Inthoseothersummertimes,allmotorswereinboardandwhentheywereatalittle distance,thenoisetheymadewasasedative,aningredientofsummersleep.Theywereonecylinderandtwocylinder engines,andsomeweremakeandbreakandsomewerejumpspark,buttheyallmadeasleepysoundacrossthelake. Theonelungersthrobbedandfluttered,andthetwincylinderonespurredandpurred,andthatwasaquietsoundtoo.But nowthecampersallhadoutboards.Inthedaytime,inthehotmornings,thesemotorsmadeapetulant,irritablesoundat night,inthestilleveningwhentheafterglowlitthewater,theywhinedaboutonesearslikemosquitoes.Myboylovedour rentedoutboard,andhisgreatdesirewastoachievesinglehandedmasteryoverit,andauthority,andhesoonlearnedthe trickofchokingitalittle(butnottoomuch),andtheadjustmentoftheneedlevalve.WatchinghimIwouldrememberthe thingsyoucoulddowiththeoldonecylinderenginewiththeheavyflywheel,howyoucouldhaveiteatingoutofyour handifyougotreallyclosetoitspiritually.Motorboatsinthosedaysdidnthaveclutches,andyouwouldmakealanding

byshuttingoffthemotoratthepropertimeandcoastinginwithadeadrudder.Buttherewasawayofreversingthem,if youlearnedthetrick,bycuttingtheswitchandputtingitonagainexactlyonthefinaldyingrevolutionoftheflywheel,so thatitwouldkickbackagainstcompressionandbeginreversing.Approachingadockinastrongfollowingbreeze,itwas difficulttoslowupsufficientlybytheordinarycoastingmethod,andifaboyfelthehadcompletemasteryoverhismotor, hewastemptedtokeepitrunningbeyonditstimeandthenreverseitafewfeetfromthedock.Ittookacoolnerve, becauseifyouthrewtheswitchatwentiethofasecondtoosoonyouwouldcatchtheflywheelwhenitstillhadspeed enoughtogouppastcenter,andtheboatwouldleapahead,chargingbullfashionatthedock. 11. Wehadagoodweekatthecamp.Thebasswerebitingwellandthesunshoneendlessly,dayafterday.We wouldbetiredatnightandliedownintheaccumulatedheatofthelittlebedroomsafterthelonghotdayandthebreeze wouldstiralmostimperceptiblyoutsideandthesmelloftheswampdriftinthroughtherustyscreens.Sleepwouldcome easilyandinthemorningtheredsquirrelwouldbeontheroof,tappingouthisgayroutine.Ikeptrememberingeverything, lyinginbedinthemorningsthesmallsteamboatthathadalongroundedsternlikethelipofaUbangi,andhowquietly sheranonthemoonlightsails,whentheolderboysplayedtheirmandolinsandthegirlssangandweatedoughnutsdipped insugar,andhowsweetthemusicwasonthewaterintheshiningnight,andwhatithadfeltliketothinkaboutgirlsthen. Afterbreakfastwewouldgouptothestoreandthethingswereinthesameplacetheminnowsinabottle,theplugs andspinnersdisarrangedandpawedoverbytheyoungstersfromtheboyscamp,theFigNewtonsandthe Beemansgum.Outside,theroadwastarredandcarsstoodinfrontofthestore.Inside,allwasjustasithadalwaysbeen, excepttherewasmoreCocaColaandnotsomuchMoxieandrootbeerandbirchbeerandsarsaparilla.Wewouldwalk outwithabottleofpopapieceandsometimesthepopwouldbackfireupournosesandhurt.Weexploredthestreams, quietly,wheretheturtlesslidoffthesunnylogsanddugtheirwayintothesoftbottomandwelayonthetownwharfand fedwormstothetamebass.EverywherewewentIhadtroublemakingoutwhichwasI,theonewalkingatmyside,the onewalkinginmypants. 12. Oneafternoonwhilewewerethereatthatlakeathunderstormcameup.Itwasliketherevivalofanold melodramathatIhadseenlongagowithchildishawe.Thesecondactclimaxofthedramaoftheelectricaldisturbance overalakeinAmericahadnotchangedinanyimportantrespect.Thiswasthebigscene,stillthebigscene.Thewhole thingwassofamiliar,thefirstfeelingofoppressionandheatandageneralairaroundcampofnotwantingtogoveryfar away.Inmidafternoon(itwasallthesame)acuriousdarkeningofthesky,andalullineverythingthathadmadelife tickandthenthewaytheboatssuddenlyswungtheotherwayattheirmooringswiththecomingofabreezeoutofthe newquarter,andthepremonitoryrumble.Thenthekettledrum,thenthesnare,thenthebassdrumandcymbals,then cracklinglightagainstthedark,andthegodsgrinningandlickingtheirchopsinthehills.Afterwardthecalm,therain steadilyrustlinginthecalmlake,thereturnoflightandhopeandspirits,andthecampersrunningoutinjoyandrelieftogo swimmingintherain,theirbrightcriesperpetuatingthedeathlessjokeabouthowtheyweregettingsimplydrenched,and thechildrenscreamingwithdelightatthenewsensationofbathingintherain,andthejokeaboutgettingdrenchedlinking thegenerationsinastrongindestructiblechain.Andthecomedianwhowadedincarryinganumbrella. 13. Whentheotherswentswimmingmysonsaidhewasgoingintoo.Hepulledhisdrippingtrunksfromtheline wheretheyhadhungallthroughtheshower,andwrungthemout.Languidly,andwithnothoughtofgoingin,Iwatched him,hishardlittlebody,skinnyandbare,sawhimwinceslightlyashepulleduparoundhisvitalsthesmall,soggy,icy garment.Ashebuckledtheswollenbeltsuddenlymygroinfeltthechillofdeath.