One of the highlights of growing up in a large fundamentalist church was a strong emphasis on family. From marriage retreats, to women’s conferences, to the Sportsman’s dinner, there was no lack of training and equipping times. But every year, there was this awesome event called the Father / Son Retreat. A big group of guys would either head up the mountains to the Word of Life Inn & Conference Center (usually in the winter) in Schroon Lake or do a canoe trip and camp out (in the summer). Guys who didn’t have a son were encouraged to bring along a kid who didn’t have a dad, a nephew, or a brother. I remember several boys who were so excited to have the opportunity to come and have a surrogate “dad” for the weekend.
I didn’t grow up in luxury and comfort. So the first time we arrived at the Conference Center, my brother and I were amazed. The hotel rooms were beautiful and big, with windows that looked out over a central indoor pool area. There were big chandeliers hanging in the lobby with coordinated furniture everywhere. It was all so posh to us rural boys. We swam for hours in the pool, alternating to the adjoining hot tub and nearby sauna. The meals were awesome, and it felt a bit like being royalty. I don’t even remember the messages, but I recall there were some bonding games that we played, and encouragement that would connect us as fathers and sons.
As fun and amazing as that was, it paled in comparison to the camping trip memories. One year in particular, the destination was West / Canada Lake in the Adirondack mountains. Now we didn’t have a canoe. Previous years we either borrowed one or there was one available. But Dad, being a bit stubborn sometimes, decided that this year we didn’t need a canoe. No, we were going to take the rowboat. [A few years ago I had my memory refreshed on the access into the lake when I went out on the boat with Sara and Jake.]
It is a fairly long winding snake of a creek that opens to West Lake, and then you paddle across the often choppy water to the campsite on the far side. We made all the preparations and got all our stuff together. Usually Dad traveled pretty light. But this year, for reasons unknown, he went all out. He decided that we were going to have a feast in the woods, so we brought a massive stockpot full of sauce, Italian sausage, and venison, and plenty of pasta noodles, among other things. So, Matt, Dad, and I loaded it all up and launched with all the guys. Obviously, the rowboat was a much slower and certainly a more ungainly craft than a sleek canoe. Additionally, we were loaded down. I vividly remember Dad saying, “Why did we bring so much stuff!?” He had to do the majority of the rowing since the boat had oarlocks and it was hard for a couple preteens to try and row either together or by ourselves compared to Dad just doing it. At long last we made it slowly across the lake as the light had just begun to fade. We unloaded the boat and got the tent set up — it was an ancient canvas military affair with various blue tarps tied over it — very unlike the surrounding shiny, new, colorful, quick-to-set-up dome tents that had become popular in the 80s.
At one point, a few of us boys were checking out the edge of the water. A few guys were swimming. Suddenly a plane circled the lake, and much to my amazement, landed on the lake. My neighbor had a plane, so I had flown many times. He even had skis on it for winter takeoffs. But this was something else… a seaplane! One of the guys at the church wasn’t able to get there on time, so he had a buddy fly him in to the lake. Of course he got a great deal of ribbing from the guys on not having to paddle that long trek in, but what a way to make an entrance!
Matt and I scoured the woods and brought arm loads of wood back to the fire pit. We were fairly experienced in this practice as we heated our home with wood. Once the fire was going, Dad started cooking. It didn’t take long for the men and boys of the camp to smell the incredible aromas of an Italian dinner emanating from the Petrillo Camp. There were many astonished exclamations as most guys were doing the “hot dogs on a stick,” and here we were with pasta, sauce and sausage and toasting garlic bread on sticks in the middle of the Adirondack forest. Naturally, since we had so much, Dad made sure everyone was welcome and there were lots of expressions of gratitude and head shakes of amazement.
As I look back now, even though our house was never very nice, always under construction, and to me, kind of embarrassing because we didn’t have what other people had (like carpet and siding and a “normal kitchen”) — for whatever reason, everyone loved to come to our place. Maybe because it was raw and real and unusual or full of a sense of adventure, but mostly I think it was because my parents just were such relational people that gave of themselves and served others. Also, Dad told the best stories and there was always lots of laughter.
These memories have always stayed with me. I can still remember standing there in the early morning light, soaking in the peace and quiet before everyone was up and active, watching the fog coming off the lake, hearing the calls of the loons and watching them dive deep, the air infused with the aroma of pine needles … So even though our tent was old and janky and we rowed in with an old, leaky, green-bottomed rowboat (Matt and I bailing it out with a can as we rowed), guess where everyone ended up? At our fire, on a clear night under the stars, eating pasta, telling crazy stories of ridiculous adventures. There was my Dad and other fathers giving practical wisdom on manhood to the next generation, talking about the goodness of God, the power of faith, and a deep sense of gratitude to the Giver of good gifts — and for moments like these.
Oh Josh, I am so happy for these memories and you tell it so beautifully. And even before I start to read, I am laughing, thinking, Oh boy what crazy story will he tell this time. 🙂 Lots of fun we had.
This is really sweet man. I really appreciate your stories. I’d love to go see all of this some day, it looks beautiful out there. And all of your descriptive language really pulled me in!!
You dad had a magnetic, gregarious personality — from what I recall. He could be interested in what the other person had to say and asked great questions. He had a gift of making other people feel valued and I’ll bet many people were drawn to him over the years. You guys were blessed with a great dad.
Another wonderful memory and tribute to your family! Visiting your house was always an adventure! Jim was quite a character!
Great memories Josh! You make me feel like I was there in the rowboat with you. hahahahah I always thought your house was cool especially the creek and wood burning stove!