The Road That Takes Me Back
Most people cringe when they hear “Interstate 81.” The potholes, the fog, the snow squalls, the construction barrels that turn into an obstacle course. It’s a road to survive, not savor.
But for me, I-81 isn’t just a highway. It’s the road that leads me back… not just to a place, but to a time in my life I will always miss.
The Lake That Shaped Me
Lake Harmony was my childhood compass. I learned to water ski, snow ski, ride a dirt bike, play tennis, and operate a motor boat and snowmobile. Summers and weekends there meant freedom I didn’t have anywhere else… running through the woods, testing my courage, feeling the kind of independence that leaves its mark for life.
Those trips weren’t about fancy vacations. They were about togetherness… the kind that stitched our lives back then. I started following I-81 to the cottage when I was just three years old, and for nearly 15 years, Lake Harmony became part of me. That chapter closed in 1980 when my parents sold the cottage, and we no longer had a place there.
Still, I couldn’t stay away. In college, I’d even skip classes to drive back for an afternoon of skiing at Big Boulder and Jack Frost, the same slopes where I’d first learned as a kid. Later, I brought my own children back for summer days on the lake and taught them to ski at Big Boulder, too.
The Gathering That’s Gone
I recently read One Golden Summer, and it brought it all back. The chaos, the laughter, the way people used to gather around the table for hours, eating, telling stories, playing cards. It reminded me of my youth at the lake and those messy, noisy, unforgettable days when family and friends felt like the whole world.
But it wasn’t just Lake Harmony. My childhood home and neighborhood felt the same way. I’d ride my bike everywhere, chasing butterflies, exploring the fields with my friends. (The house I live in now sits right where those fields once were.) Back then, you didn’t need a calendar invite to see someone. You just dropped in, knocked on the door, and pulled up a chair.
Somewhere along the way, modern life took that from us. We don’t gather like we used to. We don’t linger at the table. The chaos has thinned out, replaced by calendars, schedules, and more solitude than I ever thought I’d live with. Some days I feel like I’ve slipped into the role of an observer instead of a participant, and I don’t always like the way that feels.
And if I’m honest, I don’t always like the way life looks now. It’s quieter. Sometimes lonelier. I always thought my kids would be nearby, the way I grew up near my parents… dropping in for a quick hello, or a game of cards. I miss that more than I can put into words.
But here’s the other hard truth: this way of living has become so ingrained that it’s difficult to go out, to be around people, to even find the energy to simply do things. Solitude becomes its own habit. And while I don’t always want it, I sometimes find myself settling into it, even when part of me longs for more.
What Remains
Still, I find myself drawn back to Lake Harmony. Every fall, I take I-81 north, stopping at The Top of the 80s to look out over the valley and get a picture, remembering how we’d sometimes stop there for dinner. The lake greets me with the same colors reflected across its surface, the same crunch of leaves underfoot, the same crisp air.
Have things changed at the lake? Of course, but it remains a touchstone. A reminder that some places hold our stories even when life has moved us into new chapters we never expected.
Holding On, Letting Go
He’s a way of bottling up that mix of freedom, discovery, and homecoming that places like Lake Harmony have always given me.
Maybe this is why I write, why I photograph, why I dream up stories like Roger’s Road Trip. It’s no accident that I’m writing a children’s series about a camper van discovering small towns. Roger isn’t just a van. It’s my way of bottling the feelings of those golden summers and carrying them forward.
And maybe it’s my way of reaching you, too. Because I know I’m not alone… that tug of longing for the way things were, or the way we thought they’d be, are legit feelings.
Closing Thoughts
We all have places that call us back. For some, it’s a childhood home, for others, a favorite vacation spot. For me, it’s Lake Harmony… a little pocket of Pennsylvania where I first learned freedom, and where I continue to find it.
I-81 may test the patience of anyone who drives it. But I’ll gladly take the fog, the barrels, and even the potholes, because at the end of that road is the lake that still feels like home.
Life doesn’t always turn out the way we expect. Sometimes the road looks different, lonelier, quieter than we hoped. But if Lake Harmony has taught me anything, it’s that beauty still lingers, memories can carry us, and even in solitude, we’re not alone.
