“Once More to the Lake” is not a psychological exploration, except for one recurring detail. He writes, “I wondered how time would have marred this unique, this holy spot.” Except for the sound of outboard motors on boats, a mid-century technological advance-a “petulant, irritable sound” that “whined about one’s ears like mosquitoes”-he found it to be the same place. It is the same camp, by Belgrade Lake in Maine, where his father had taken him many times when he was growing up, over 30 years before. White takes his son to a camp for a short vacation. Written in August 1941 and published originally in Harper’s, the story is deceptively simple. Throughout our time at that lovely house under the clear skies, overlooking the deep-blue Atlantic Ocean, I kept returning to his rumination on summer memories. I had read White’s autobiographical piece, “Once More to the Lake” in college, but here I was, a man in his late-40s, again under its spell.

White, a book that the house owners had left on the shelf. When I was on a vacation in the Virgin Islands with my two brothers and my 70-year old mother-an exceptional hiatus from our lives with family and children, just the four of us, to celebrate my mother’s milestone birthday, our good fortune that we had had her in our lives for such a long time-I happened upon a collection of essays by E.B. He later goes into explaining that now in 1941 they have different types of boats than the.Things don’t change much. At the farmhouse the waitresses were the same country girls, the only difference was that they had washed their hair and they had been to the movies and seen the pretty girls with clean hair. Even though at first he missed the middle track, he was reassured by the tennis courts and something about the way the sun shone on the tracks. There had always been three tracks to choose from, but now their were only two-tracks to choose from. Later that night, they went back up to the farmhouse for dinner. He is confused and feeling dizzy and doesn't know which rod he was at the end of. They both sat their while fishing and the father looks over to the boy staring quietly and sees that it is his hands that is holding the rod and his eyes watching the water. The arrival of the dragonfly convinced the father even more that everything was as it had always been. He felt the same damp moss covering the worms in the bait can, and saw the dragonfly on the tip of the rods as it hovered over the water. The next morning he and his son went fishing. After settling into a camp near a farmhouse and getting that summer feeling, he thought things couldn't be much different. On his way to Maine, the father wonders how much different the 'holy spot' may be and if he still will love the place like he used to. He is now a father who has a child himself who he decides to bring along because he thought this would be a great experience. When telling the story, he remembers the feelings he once had as a child while camping and decides to relive them again.

The essay starts off with a father talking about his experiences as a child camping with his father in 1904 on a lake in Maine. E.B White, the author of 'Stuart Little' and 'Charlotte's Web,' also wrote the personal essay 'Once More to the Lake' in which he explores the relationship between a father and his son.

Once more to the lake