I looked at the boy, who was silently watching his fly, and it was my hands that held his rod, my eyes watching.
But now the campers all had outboards. Sleep would come easily and in the morning the red squirrel would be on the roof, tapping out his gay routine. Unsourced material may be challenged and removed. One afternoon while we were there at that lake a thunderstorm came up.
Languidly, and with no thought of going in, I watched him, his hard little body, skinny and bare, saw him wince slightly as he pulled up around his vitals the small, soggy, icy garment.
Image via Maine Travel Maven. White references this in the final lines: We would be tired at night and lie down in the accumulated heat of the little bedrooms after the long hot day and the breeze would stir almost imperceptibly outside and the smell of the swamp drift in through the rusty screens.
April Learn how and when to remove this template message The essay shows White engaging in an internal struggle between acting and viewing the lake as he did when he was a boy and acting and viewing it as an adult, or as his father would have. Outside, the road was tarred and cars stood in front of the store.
White realizes that although human lives are by themselves transient and insignificant, experiences are immortal. It seemed to me, as I kept remembering all this, that those times and those summers had been infinitely precious and worth saving.
He suddenly realizes how death is so close, because he is now the father and not the son. He pulled his dripping trunks from the line where they had hung all through One more time to the lake shower, and wrung them out.
While he initially finds great joy in his visit, the nostalgia causes him to struggle to remember that he is now a man, as he grapples with his own mortality.
The second-act climax of the drama of the electrical disturbance over a lake in America had not changed in any important respect.
We explored the streams, quietly, where the turtles slid off the sunny logs and dug their way into the soft bottom; and we lay on the town wharf and fed worms to the tame bass. In those other summertimes, all motors were inboard; and when they were at a little distance, the noise they made was a sedative, an ingredient of summer sleep.
It was like the revival of an old melodrama that I had seen long ago with childish awe. My boy loved our rented outboard, and his great desire was to achieve single-handed mastery over it, and authority, and he soon learned the trick of choking it a little but not too muchand the adjustment of the needle valve.
Inhe brought his son Joelthe experience of which is recorded in "Once More to the Lake". White releases his ego by realizing that he himself is inconsequential. Although White sees the lake as having remained nearly identical to the lake of his boyhood, technology mars his experience and the new, noisier boats disturb the serene atmosphere at the lake.
The one-lungers throbbed and fluttered, and the twin-cylinder ones purred and purred, and that was a quiet sound too. Approaching a dock in a strong following breeze, it was difficult to slow up sufficiently by the ordinary coasting method, and if a boy felt he had complete mastery over his motor, he was tempted to keep it running beyond its time and then reverse it a few feet from the dock.
As he buckled the swollen belt suddenly my groin felt the chill of death. In mid-afternoon it was all the same a curious darkening of the sky, and a lull in everything that had made life tick; and then the way the boats suddenly swung the other way at their moorings with the coming of a breeze out of the new quarter, and the premonitory rumble.
Please help improve this article by adding citations to reliable sources. This was the big scene, still the big scene.
Everywhere we went I had trouble making out which was I, the one walking at my side, the one walking in my pants. As he buckled the swollen belt suddenly my groin felt the chill of death.
The bass were biting well and the sun shone endlessly, day after day. But there was a way of reversing them, if you learned the trick, by cutting the switch and putting it on again exactly on the final dying revolution of the flywheel, so that it would kick back against compression and begin reversing.
They were one-cylinder and two-cylinder engines, and some were make-and-break and some were jump-spark, but they all made a sleepy sound across the lake. This was the note that jarred, the one thing that would sometimes break the illusion and set the years moving.
The whole thing was so familiar, the first feeling of oppression and heat and a general air around camp of not wanting to go very far away.
There had been jollity and peace and goodness.
Summertime, oh summertime, pattern of life indelible, the fade proof lake, the woods unshatterable, the pasture with the sweet fern and the juniper forever and ever, summer without end; this was the background, and the life along the shore was the design, the cottages with their innocent and tranquil design, their tiny docks with the flagpole and the American flag floating against the white clouds in the blue sky, the little paths over the roots of the trees leading from camp to camp and the paths leading back to the outhouses and the can of lime for sprinkling, and at the souvenir counters at the store the miniature birch-bark canoes and the post cards that showed things looking a little better than they looked.
In spite of the increasing amounts of technology, his son still has the same experiences that he had when he was a boy — sneaking out in the morning, being amused by the dragonflies.'Once More to the Lake,' an essay written by E.B. White, explores the age-old relationship between a father and his growing son.
This. "Once More to the Lake" is an essay first published in Harper's Magazine in by author E. B.
White. It chronicles his pilgrimage back to a lakefront resort, Belgrade Lakes, Maine, that he visited as a child. In "Once More to the Lake," White revisits his ideal boyhood vacation mint-body.com: E.
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Search. Loading Close. Yeah, keep it Undo Close. This video is unavailable. Watch Queue. One summer, along aboutmy father rented a camp on a lake in Maine and took us all there for the month of August.
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