The Duck Pond, painting by James Renwick Thomson.

When my family moved to Chappaqua in the 1930s, the pond reliably froze deep enough before the arrival of winter snow that the ice could be kept clear for skating, and the pond became the most popular rink in this part of Chappaqua. It was not an ideal venue, for it was relatively small to begin with and further limited by treacherous areas of thin ice at its inlet and outlet. Nonetheless, it attracted crowds of enthusiastic skaters, particularly on weekends. From the time I put on my first pair of double runners at the age of four, I was one of them.

I was never a very good skater, but I made up for my meager skills with devotion. I skated on the Duck Pond whenever the ice became thick enough. I skated at any hour on weekends and in late afternoons after school, when the streetlamps provided enough light well into dusk.

In the early 1940s, the Duck Pond got new competition. About a mile further north on Quaker Road, the wet meadow near the entrance to the Children’s Aid Society children’s hospital (later Wagon Road Camp) was mowed close during the fall, and a valve at the outlet was shut off, so that a large, shallow pool rose over the whole area. Because it was so shallow, it froze early, with few thin spots, and offered skating that was much more extensive and also much safer.

Skating on the Children’s Aid Society’s flooded meadow, painted by Lewis Bennett.

Our home on Commodore Road lay roughly halfway between the two ponds, and for a time I skated on both. I had a slight preference for the Duck Pond, for it was a little closer in walking distance and had become less favored than the big pond at the Children’s Aid Society. I often had it to myself, especially late in the day. I don’t remember precisely when, but eventually the town stopped maintaining it, and I switched over permanently to the larger facility.

I now live on Quaker Road, a short distance from the home I grew up in. I frequently drive by the Duck Pond, and it never fails to bring back a flood of memories. I remember the springtime return of the migrating ducks, when I would search eagerly for unusual species, such as the spectacularly colorful wood ducks that appeared on rare occasions. But mainly I recall sitting on the bank next to the dam, pulling off boots, pulling on heavy woolen socks, tightening skate laces with as much of a grip as I was capable of, and then skating in broad circles around the perimeter as closely as I dared. In later years I’ve skated on the only pond the town maintains, at Gedney Park. It’s big. It’s beautiful. The ice, once frozen, is smooth. But somehow it is just not quite the same as skating on the Duck Pond.