Thank Goodness for the Beave:

In the midst of all this movement and panic, there's this lovely little lake community that remains a constant (in our hearts and in our lives) and that will continue to, no matter where Stef's job takes us. I was thinking about Beaver Lake, NJ this morning and trying to figure out how to ensure we have a rental house there every summer going forward. I can't imagine there are very many places like Beaver Lake (in the world) and I think returning every summer will keep the Whitney family sane and connected to the people who matter most.

It's a small lake, as far as lakes that are large enough to support a community of people go. There's a limit on the size of the motor boat engine one can have, so everyone cruises around on the these jenky aluminum vessels with 6 horse power motors. When time allows, we opt for canoes or kayaks instead (after 5PM, there's a requisite "Jolly Roger"-- a cocktail taken along for the ride). There's a "General Store" type of place where you can pick up a copy of the New York Times and an egg sandwich in the morning and then grab an ice cream cone and a game of ping-pong in the afternoon. The center of activity for those of us who have small children is the "Kiddie Beach," which is essentially a patch of sand nestled in between the "Community House" (where the Barn Dance is held) and the boat house for people whose homes are on islands. There's a strict "Board," who most people complain about, but without whom the rules that keep this place the way it is- humble, honest, close-knit- would be broken. The best part, and the part that makes Beaver Lake so important to a family such as ours is that the place is overflowing with family and friends-- people who have been a part of my life for as long as I have been alive to enjoy them.

When I was a toddler, I learned to swim by jumping off a Beaver Lake dock with abandon. When I was 6 or so, I dutifully attended Beaver Lake Day Camp and made necklaces out of macaroni. When I was 13, I hung out at the "Big Kid Float" in the middle of the lake, coating my skin with baby oil and listening to Blues Traveler. It's safe to say I drank my first beer, smoked my first cigarette and had my first crush at Beaver Lake too. Now, I am 32 and I am anxious to watch my girls grow up here (except for the beer, the cigarette, the baby oil and definitely NO Blues Traveler).