Growing up, many of my weekends were spent at my late step-grandmother’s house on Smith Mountain Lake in Virginia.
By Sarah Riddell
The crew usually consisted of my mom, brother, stepdad, and me, along with my older stepsiblings, if they were in town. No matter who was there, though, the routine was always the same: hop in the car early on Saturday morning to get the roughly two-hour drive out of the way, then spend as much time on or near the water as possible before it was time to pack up and head home.
We engaged in all the classic lake activities. There was swimming, tubing, and water skiing—the latter being a particular favorite of mine but often a source of stress for my mom, who watched from the boat with eagle eyes and what I can only assume was a steadily increasing blood pressure reading. Making our way around the cove near the house in the two-person pedalboat was much more her speed.
The boys often spent part of the day on the dock fishing with rods baited with Vienna sausages, but my preferred version of this activity was a little less traditional. I’d lower a minnow bucket with bits of bread in it into the water and wait. Before long, it would attract a fascinating collection of tiny fish. I’d inspect my temporary visitors for a few minutes before releasing them and starting the process all over again.
A whole-family highlight was boating to Bridgewater Marina. Armed with popcorn, we’d spend an hour or so on nearly every visit feeding and communing with the incredibly overeager carp that flocked to the docks in impressive numbers.
Looking back, none of these experiences seem particularly extraordinary. If you’d asked me at 12 years old what I did that weekend, I probably would’ve shrugged and said, “Went to the lake.” I had no way of knowing that years later, I’d still remember the pedalboat rides with my mom, the minnow bucket experiments, or the carp that seemed perpetually convinced they were starving.
As I flip through this issue—a celebration of everything from mountain water on the move to scenic paddling destinations and our readers’ picks for the Happiest Towns in the Blue Ridge—I’m reminded that some of our longest-lasting memories aren’t necessarily the most extravagant. More often than not, they’re the ones we don’t even realize we’re making.
Sarah Riddell, Editor
sriddell@vistamediainc.com
The story above first appeared in our July/August 2026 issue.
