In The Good Old Summertime
Annie C. Tanks

From an article that first appeared in the Pioneer Review in 1988

A lot is said these days about sending the children off to summer 
camp.  How about taking the family to camp for the entire summer?  

Back in the early 1900's until some years after World War I, well-to-
do families moved each summer to "Camp Rest", a cluster of tented 
summer homes on the bank of the Ohio River at Patton's Run (north of 
Martins Ferry). Two small albums of snapshots, almost identical, 
found in the museum files, suggest that a collection of pictures was 
put together and given to each family that camped there.

To judge from the album, each family in Camp Rest owned a permanent 
wooden platform in a double row of platforms, set in a grove of 
trees.  When school was out in the spring, the families make ready to 
move.  A big tent was pitched on each platform, hammocks were strung 
between trees or a porch swing hung from a wooden frame.  Some pieces 
of furniture were hauled to the camp site; cots, of course, a kitchen 
table, perhaps a folding screen, a trunk, a chest of drawers.  There 
were chairs in plenty, from folding to kitchen to sitting room chairs 
past their prime.

Once the family had settled in, life proceeded much as usual.  Each 
morning Father had his breakfast and walked across the fields to the 
streetcar line, where he rode to Martins Ferry and went to the 
office.  Mother had to get the three daily meals and something in 
between for a crew that was hungrier than usual because they were 
living in the open air.  To do her washing and ironing she must have 
gone home, or sent the clothes to the laundry on Jefferson Street.  
Daily cleaning took much less time; only a square platform instead of 
six rooms and a porch, and a minimum of furniture.  Unless the 
weather was bad, most of the chairs were out under the trees.  
Imagine Mother on a summer afternoon, sitting in a chair under the 
trees, leaves rustling overhead, looking out at the sparkling river 
and listening to the shouts of children at play.  How could town life 
compete with this?

The children had a wonderful time.  There was room to run and a river 
to wade in.  One snapshot shows a tall sliding board in the 
background.  Undoubtedly there were swings and seesaws too-a whole 
playground at hand and all their friends close by.

Young people who were not working enjoyed themselves too.  Picture 
after picture shows them canoeing on the river, pushing off a 
johnboat, or swimming near the shore.  Fishermen walked up or down a 
little way to find a quiet spot to cast a line. Since a teenager's 
favorite pastime is talking, there was plenty of time for that, 
sitting on logs beside the river or rocking gently in a skiff as a 
towboat steamed by.

School started the day after Labor Day, so then or a little earlier, 
the flags were hauled down, the big tents struck and the furniture 
hauled back home.  Mother was laying out clothes for the first day of 
school.  For a few days, the house must have seemed confining and 
stuffy.

One by one, the families gave up their campsites as the river grew 
foul in the twenties from industrial waste and raw sewage. 
Townspeople found their fresh air at parks or the municipal swimming 
pool.  Concerted efforts to clean up the river have brought back its 
usefulness for recreation, but in a different form.  The beaches are 
now marinas where a flock of powerboats is moored.  And one of the 
signs of spring is the neighbor's boat on its trailer, being hauled 
down to the riverfront for another season of play.