How We Fell Into Duck Harbor
Waaaayyy back in the 1950s, my husband, Marty, and I had a friend who was asthmatic. To escape the pollen, she would retreat to the Adirondacks during peak season and invited us to join her. This became the inspiration for finding our own vacation getaway.
After consulting a friend at work, his advice was simple: check out areas close enough to Rockland County, NY—where we lived at the time—and find a suitable location. But how to do this? Go to the nearest bar; everybody knows everything at a bar!
As I recall, it was The Long Branch, probably named after the great old western series, Gunsmoke, with James Arness. That recommendation led us to contact Joel Hill at Duck Harbor. Joel himself was developing a wooded area surrounding the lake, and we purchased two lots in those woods.
Next step: find a builder familiar with A-frame construction, which was pretty rare at the time. Only one name came up—Stan Highouse. Just the name Highouse for a builder felt like an inspiration!
Stan showed us an A-frame he’d recently completed. It was exactly what we were looking for—except for the deer head mounted on the wall. Being a native New Yorker, the sight of that poor creature really upset me. But after a few years of living in Northeast Pennsylvania, I became hardened to the realities of country life. (I even have a very tasty venison meatball recipe—called Bambi Meatballs—which I’m happy to share upon request.)
Excited to pioneer on our own property but totally inexperienced at camping—not to mention unaware of the climate differences between southern NY and Northeast PA—we spent a wretched, damp, cold, sleepless first night in our woodsy paradise. A compassionate neighbor took pity on us and invited us to spend the next night in their lakefront house, complete with real beds, heat, and indoor plumbing. And they even treated us to a lovely breakfast the next morning. Eternally grateful, Celeste Howarth!
Watching Stan and his son scamper across the roof of the up-and-coming A-frame was a bit of a nail-biter. (Bear in mind, an A-frame is pretty much all roof!) And Stan was well into his 70s! The house was built with a 100-year cedar shake roof. Hanging pictures on slanted walls proved to be a challenge, so Marty discovered topographical maps of the area, which are still tacked onto those walls to this day.
The huge drapes for the sliding front door are still in perfect shape. The ones for the back door, however, are in shreds and have since been replaced. Somewhere along the line, a porta-john materialized down by the lake—total luxury! Before that, we had scored a small, rather unsteady collapsible camping toilet. I won’t get graphic here, except to say—it could’ve been a lot worse.
