Conway Lake Beach

Two years before I was born, in 1938, my grandfather bought a summer farm in South Conway, New Hampshire. He bought it to be a family summer colony, with himself as Chief, and in fact he was referred to as Chief by some of my uncles. His chiefdom was sadly shortened by his death when I was nine, and the farm became a hub of matriarchy. My very first memory of swimming in New Hampshire was in a little kiddy pool (made out of canvas, with a wooden frame). I wore a knitted wool bathing suit, which of course stretched very uncomfortably as soon as it got wet. 


There were two possible lakes where we could go to swim, once my sister and I and our two cousins had outgrown the kiddy pool. They were about equidistant from the farm. Crystal Lake was downhill all the way, on paved road, and right beside Route 153, in the Town of Eaton. Conway Lake was on more or less level dirt road and a much more exciting ride for us. The controversy over which one to go to had to do with gas. This was wartime, and gas was strictly rationed, so a trip to the beach was a precious event. The question was, does it use less gas to coast all the way downhill, and then drive back up, or would it be less to drive both ways, but on flat road. That question, as far as I know, was never answered to any one's satisfaction!


At some point after the war, the South Conway Club was formed, and a beach was established on Conway Lake.  The opening day of the beach included a picnic and of course swimming. I'm sure there were margaritas for the grownups, there always were. 


There was only a small handful of children, but our dear friend Mr. Harper had come down early, and when we got there, the beach was blooming with dozens of lollipops planted in the sand.