Fontana Fireworks

I’ve been thoroughly enjoying my elongated fourth of July weekend, and if you’ve been Lake Geneva based for the last three days, there’s a good chance you know exactly what I’m talking about. The lake has been rough this weekend, a choppy state owed to the stiff southwest breeze that has blown with much bravado since early Saturday, but smart boaters can always find calm water suitable for swimming and skiing. I’ve done my share of boating and swimming, and the aforementioned crayfish expedition has spawned a new favorite activity for young Thomas. He could literally look for crayfish for hours on end, and I love it.

I was planning on taking my family out on the boat for the Fontana fireworks last night, but the threat of rain put a damper on the boating plan. Instead, we polled those present and ended up walking the section of shore path from my parents house in the Loch Vista Club to prime viewing grounds on the West side of Conference Point. May and Thomas were excited, so much so that May let out shrieks of joy at the mere sight of the neighbors lighting off small store bought fireworks in their front yard. They dragged my older brother with, and the expedition was set. We lathered up with some sticky and rather unnecessary mosquito repellent, and walked south. Thomas didn’t have any shoes with, but he led our quartet barefoot anyway.

The section of path from my parents to the point can’t be more than a thousand feet long. It dips and dives in characteristic unkempt fashion, and we marched along in the near dark. My brother and I commented how nice it was to see the Conference Point Camp in new hands (the group behind the Lake Geneva Youth Camp now operates it), and talked about our childhood afternoons spent scrambling up the sides of those steep, washed out hills in search of gold. It was fools gold, but there was a very serious time in our lives when we actually thought we were finding one pound chunks of gold tucked away into small crannies in those rocky hills. We were excited then, and gold was only $300 an ounce.

We walked, with Thomas scurrying ahead like a barefoot Potawatomi in 1835, and I called out roots and dips that were becoming increasingly hard to see in the fading light. We rounded the corner with high hopes that the giant shoreline rock would be free of spectators so that we could climb upon its smooth surface and watch the display. The rock had already been claimed by an older couple who looked quite pleased with themselves to have captured such a significant viewing perch. We pressed on, around the rock, down the path, past the curiously long mess hall that hugs the lake on the camps lakefront. We came to the clearing, where as many as 200 spectators were spread out over 500 feet of level lakefront, waiting to view the celebration. Some clients of mine from the Loch Vista Club had already laid claim to a large section of shoreline, so we sat on the rain teased grass. We watched the fireworks, with a cooling breeze in our faces, and sailboat masts illuminated in front of us. Not a mosquito in sight, and two very happy children watching fireworks that have not even come close to losing their wide eyed appeal to those young enough to still have imaginations.

The fireworks were over in 15 minutes, maybe less, and we walked home with the small throng of explosion lovers. We cut through the Conference Point Camp grounds, past the old caretakers cottage that housed one of my best childhood friends in the mid 1980’s. We walked up Conference Point Drive, and turned lakeside onto Upper Loch Vista. My brother pointed out to my son that he should go home and thank his grandpa for having the wisdom to purchase a home down this road 40 years ago- a decision that is the only reason we’re able to turn right towards the lake and not pile in cars to drive home somewhere else. We walked down the lane, as we have thousands of times before, and I realized something about a lake house. A lake house is about traditions, and it’s about traditions that if done properly will make us all feel like children. Walking a dusty dirt path is far from glamorous. And watching a small firework display on a damp grassy lawn is far from the sort of celebration that many sat home and watched last night on network television. But walking down that path and up the old twisting road back home made me feel like a kid again, and in encouraging that feeling, vacation homes are amazingly effective.