Duck Harbor Memories
By Terri Crambo
Ever since my sister, Pat Harrison, asked me to write my story for this newsletter, I’ve been trying to remember my earliest memories of Duck Harbor. I have two, and they may be from the same weekend.
Our mother was Dorethy Brown, sister of John VonOhlsen. I vividly remember our family arriving late at the church in Lookout when Uncle John VonOhlsen married Ann Breden on June 29, 1957. Ann and her father, Louis Breden, were standing at the top of the steps, ready to enter the church and walk down the aisle.
At that time, I would have been 6, our brother Rick 3, and the twins, Pat and Bob, babies. My other early memory, probably that same weekend, is of the twins, Pat and Bob, propped up on the couch in the VonOhlsen cottage living room, with the lake in the background, crying their eyes out! And so began our family’s story at Duck Harbor.
Once John and Ann VonOhlsen were married, our family visited often and eventually bought property down past the Schott house on the other side of the stream. It seemed so far away for a little kid like me to trek through the woods to get there. Over the years, other homes were built, and family and friends became neighbors. When we were younger, we would spend the entire summer at the lake every year.
I have so many wonderful memories of how we passed the days and nights—swimming, learning to waterski, playing cards and board games, lying in the fields looking at millions of stars, Wayne County Fair, sidewalk sales, movies in Callicoon, swimming across the lake and rowing across to Schnackenbergs to buy eggs, Sandercocks for ice cream, bowling at what is now Highlands Physicians, sneaking into movies at the “Skeeter” drive-in (appropriately named for getting eaten alive by mosquitoes), and watching the one channel we could get from Binghamton, NY.
I also remember cramming into the Yurkovic cottage in July 1969, the same year as Woodstock (August 1969), to watch the first-ever moonwalk. We had a group of probably 10–15 of us, and the summers we spent together meant so much. Our children grew up making the same great memories with their cousins and friends—the next generation—at the lake. And I’m happy to say most of us are grandparents now, and our grandchildren are enjoying summers here too. Best day of summer is when the dock goes in; saddest day is when it comes out.
Our cousin, Leslie Faist, moved to France after college, but she always came back to Duck Harbor to visit. For many summers, her two sons, Yann and Mathieu, came to visit their grandparents, Cliff and Betty Faist. Our brother, Bob, lives in California but comes back to the lake every year to visit. My three children live close by and are able to enjoy the lake. My siblings have children scattered around the U.S., and most of them come back to the lake for vacations.
No matter where in the country or the world we live, all roads lead back to Duck Harbor. It’s in our blood. Thousands of beautiful memories—and we’re still making more every year. In June 2023, Pat married Jim McMyne, another lifelong friend we grew up with at the lake. Their wedding brought together so many families and friends, and we spent much of the night talking about the good ’ole days. Their two years of wedded bliss were way too short, and his loss will be felt by all of us at Duck Harbor for many years to come. I’m so very glad he became a part of our family.
And this April, Pat and I took a trip to Paris, France, to visit Leslie and her husband, Jean Jacques, and also spent a few days with her son, Mathieu, and his family. It was a phenomenal trip, and we loved every minute we spent together. My goal was to eat, drink, and be merry—and we certainly accomplished that!
We’ve invited them to Duck Harbor next summer, in 2026. We hope they can arrange to be here. More family memories.
My favorite spot in the whole world is sitting lakefront. I’m forever grateful that our mother purchased this property from Joel Hill. Duck Harbor brings our family together every summer, and I pray it will continue for generations to come.
