Summers in Rochester haven’t changed in over a quarter century. They still carry the same vibe. I can attest to this from personal experience. When I was a child growing up in the North End of New Bedford, my father, John DeCicco, frequently took me to Snow’s Pond, where his cousin owned a cottage and we had a key that let us past a padlock-chained road to enjoy swimming and picnicking.
Today, the roads we traveled to the cottage are still mostly pristine scenes of modest homes and open fields in shades of green and tree-bark brown. There’s still a crisp smell of pine and fresh air. Back then, “The Country Whip” near the top of Robinson Road had just opened. The same ice cream cone sign there now marked the spot (or it’s an exact replica of the original one). The only ice cream flavor choices then, though, were vanilla or coffee.
Just past the “Entering Rochester” sign on Robinson Road, the “Ponderosa” was already open, though then my young mind wondered if it had any connection to the “Bonanza” television show. We’d pass the “Hartley Saw Mill” shack that’s still there on Hartley Road. A little farther down the road, I saw the early frame of the Rochester Memorial School.
Then we arrived at my favorite place to swim as a child and my favorite memory of my late father. The visit to the cottage was our regular routine, Saturdays and Tuesdays in the summer (mom never liked going to the beach but also must have known that father-son time was important).
Dad was the oven man at a baking company in New Bedford, and those two days were his only time off. His hands were rough (he was an army veteran of World War II, Pacific Theater, Philippines), but his touch was gentle when he made sure I was dry and clean after a day of swimming there, and he checked me for rashes.
Old tire inner tubes were available at the cottage in place of the typical store-bought inflatable swimming tubes for floating in from the pond shore. They were a lot bigger, for sure. But I did end up with a red rash once or twice.
I remember my dad’s patience on those days. Patience with my boyish energy back then. Patience as my older cousins that we sometimes brought along tried to get pop tunes from WPRO on his scratchy AM radio. The only time I ever saw him angry was when my younger cousin Jimmy spilled his ice cream (from “Country Whip”, of course) all over the back seat of his car. He stopped the car halfway down Hartley Road to tell Jimmy he was licking the cone the wrong way. I learned the right way to lick an ice cream cone that day!
He called our “Snow’s Pond” destination, “Phil’s Cottage.” Only years later did I learn it was named after a cousin, Philomena. Maybe he didn’t want my young mind confused by his nickname for his female cousin.
He always gave me a choice of going to “Phil’s Cottage” or “Mary’s Pond” (when it was more of a sandy beach). I always chose the cottage. I was more comfortable there. It meant more peaceful, quiet privacy.
I dare say these attributes are more of what the summer swimming areas of Rochester and the roads that lead to them offer even today. Let it always be so. Rochester, thank you for the memories!
By Michael J. DeCicco