No Drowning: Parenting Where I was Parented at Oakdale Lake
How a lake, a camp, and a city are teaching me how to be a parent.
“Kids,” my mom would say, addressing the line of children standing in front of her, arms out waiting dutifully to be slathered in sunscreen. “What’s the number one rule at Oakdale?” We’d always respond with the same rehearsed refrain, rolling our eyes, waiting eagerly to get into the lake: “no drowning.”
We were used to it because it was a rule that a parent mentioned every single time we arrived at Oakdale. My mom started saying it like a joke, but it was completely serious. It wasn’t just her rule — it was more like the baseline agreement of the adults spread out on beach towels and lawn chairs, supervising kids who moved in and out of their sight line like the minnows we caught in nets on the shoreline. We were wild and mostly barefoot, popsicle-stained, daring each other to swim out to the floating dock, and the adults kept a watchful distance. Not hovering. Not disengaged. Just… confident. Trusting in us, in the lifeguards, and in each other.
And the lifeguards – it was wild to get older and realize that they were just teenagers. At the time, they seemed like gods of the beach. If a lifeguard told you were out too deep, to move in to your belly-button, you moved in. Our parents backed them up without question. Their word was the final word, and that taught me something that’s still with me now: in shared spaces, especially around kids, you back each other up. You trust the people keeping watch. You reinforce each other’s boundaries. It’s a kind of collective parenting that makes everyone safer.
We used to beg those lifeguards to take us out in the rowboat — across the lake to what we called “turtle country.” The far side always felt a little mysterious, like a secret realm only accessed by the chosen few. You had to pass a swim test to get the honors of making the trip, and even then it wasn’t a guarantee. When they said yes, it felt like magic. When they said no, we didn't argue — because again, their word was it. The grownups respected them, and so did we.
When I think back on these memories of Oakdale, I think that’s what I want parenting to look like in my life now: communal, relaxed, present without being performative. I didn’t have the language for it then, but Oakdale was one of the first places where I felt a kind of safety that wasn’t about control – it was about trust.
Oakdale Lake is a manmade spring-fed lake in Hudson, New York, created in 1915. The park became a civic gathering space — the kind of beloved third place that holds memory for a whole town. By the time I was born, Oakdale had long since become part of Hudson’s shared DNA — a place for birthday parties, ice skating, summer camp, hot dogs at the snack bar, and lifeguards who somehow earned everyone’s respect, even though most of them couldn’t vote yet.
I learned to swim there, first in the shallow water by the shore and later learning to dive headfirst off the diving board. I went to summer camp there, where I became a champ at Nok Hockey. I was on the Oakdale swim team, traveling to nearby pools and lakes to compete with other young swimmers. I ice-skated there in the winter, patiently watching for the green flag put up at the beach house that signaled that the ice was thick enough to skate on. I hiked on the trails around the lake, somehow managing to get lost on the winding paths. I lifeguarded there, scanning the water for bobbing heads and remembering how I used to be the kid pushing the boundaries of the lifeguards.
And now, decades later, Oakdale is where my kids are growing up. My daughter Poppy will go to summer camp there this summer for the fourth year in a row. She’s nothing short of patriotic about that camp now – she waits all school year for those beloved six weeks. My son Cliffy is learning to swim with the sandy shore under his feet, in the same place I once splashed around with goggles too tight on my face. My husband, Ron, regularly fishes from a kayak in the lake before work. He and his friend Kyle built the lifeguard chairs a few years ago. And for my part, I’m now in a line of beach chairs watching my kids swim and play. Watching my children play and learn and swim in the same place that I did is a trip. I feel like time is folding in on itself. And I’m parenting where I was parented, and it’s shaping how I show up for my kids.
There’s a concept in developmental psychology called contextual priming — the idea that environments can activate patterns of behavior and memory. When I parent at Oakdale, I sometimes hear my mom’s voice come out of my mouth. I say things the way she said them. I pick my battles with my kids the way she did. Not because I’ve made some grand, conscious decision to replicate her parenting style — although in many ways I have — but because the place itself draws it out of me. It’s like muscle memory. Place memory.
It’s also deeply regulating. Research shows that returning to positive childhood spaces can anchor us, emotionally and even physiologically. Familiar landscapes can slow our heart rates, reduce stress hormones, and trigger a sense of belonging that helps us show up more attuned and warm. I don’t know if Oakdale makes me a better parent, but I do know I feel more like myself there. And I think my kids can feel that too.
In a small city like Hudson, where everything feels like it’s changing all the time – the cost of living, the storefronts, even the people – Oakdale remains one of those places that roots us. It’s still the site of the city’s free summer day camp, still surrounded by woods and water and kids from every part of town.
That kind of continuity doesn’t just happen by accident. It requires community support. One organization playing a big role in keeping it all going, an organization I just joined as a board member, is Friends of Hudson Youth. From supporting capital improvements at Oakdale to helping ensure the Youth Department has the resources it needs, FOHY helps make sure this place stays public, welcoming, and free for the kids who need it most. If you want to support that mission, you can make a donation here.
Every fall equinox, I take a photo of my children at Oakdale Lake. It started as a one-off on our first year back in Hudson when my daughter was one, and it’s become a tradition that we haven’t missed yet. Summer ends, and we return to Oakdale for a moment of stillness. The beach is not just a place we go — it’s part of how we know who we are. And it helps me remember who I am, what I know, and how I want to parent. Not everyone has access to childhood landmarks that stay intact. I don’t take it for granted.
When I’m at Oakdale and when I’m not, I parent a lot like my parents did. Not just in the big picture, but in the small, everyday rhythms — the way I trust my kids' independence, the way I back up the rules without making a big show of it, the way I let the place itself help hold them. I inherited my mom’s instinct: don’t hover, but don’t disappear. Trust the lake. Trust the kids. Trust the lifeguards — and back them up. Bring some snacks. Be there when they’re ready to towel off.
And my number one rule is still no drowning. But beneath that is another rule: come back again next year. See what’s changed. And see what hasn’t.