3 min read

For those of us who were lucky enough to spend their lives going upta camp in Maine, the evolution of lake life has become heartbreaking. The difference between a camp and a lake house is vast.

Camp is a feeling. Camp is unassuming and expects very little of the owner. Camps are secret holders of memories, smells, and they encourage a simpler way of life.

When I drive down a camp road with lake houses, I cheer for the little surviving camp tucked in by the water. Way to go, you sweet vision of happiness!

The out of control growth of McMansions bursting obtrusively on the lake punches me right in the gut.

People have every right to spend their money on large fancy homes. Contractors and real estate agents profit and that’s OK. It is just my humble opinion that a lake house is an ugly lesion on the lake. Lake life is changing and succumbing to greed. Too much clever landscaping, too many retaining walls and crushed stone. Too many expensive toys in the yard and in the water. They have all the things, but seem to miss the feeling.

A camp is not grand, not polished. The floors creak and the windows don’t all shut tight. But there’s a kind of joy that is quiet and enduring. The scent of pine drifts in through the screen door, and at night, the loons call out across the water like they’ve done for generations. There’s no polished stone or manicured lawn, just pine needles and sand underfoot, and the soft hush of trees swaying overhead.

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Life at camp is simple — and that’s exactly the point. At camp we swim, we read, we nap in hammocks. We eat when we’re hungry, and we laugh often. When the sun starts to dip, the real traditions come out — board games, cards and that ever-competitive, ever-loud game of Yahtzee. The rattle of dice and then the dice hitting my grandparents’ red metal camp table  is like music — followed by dramatic groans, cheers and shouts of “YAHTZEE!”

How about a good game of Trouble? Who doesn’t love the feel and sound of the Pop-O-Matic? At camp we have rummy marathons that tend to run late into the evening. All games are accompanied with camp snacks including; popcorn (sometimes Jiffy Pop), Fritos, chips and French onion dip and, once in a while, M&Ms thrown in for good measure.

These evenings are unhurried. There’s storytelling, shared snacks and a feeling that this — these small, joyful rituals — are what hold a family together. Year after year, the tradition continues. The kids grow older, new members join and the games go on. Always the lake, always the laughter, and always time for one more roll of the dice.

In contrast, a lake house feels  like something else entirely — large, sterile, curated. Crushed stone paths lead to steel docks, and towering retaining walls hold back nature like an inconvenience. Inside, a lake house is quiet in a different way — more echo than warmth, more gallery than home.

So here’s to Maine camps! May they continue to endure on every lake in the state of Maine.

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