Chautauqua Joy

Editor’s Note: Wondering how to have a joyful summer? Here’s an idea from writer Trish Braga who shares nearly 25 years of personal memories at Chautauqua Institution in New York state.

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In some recent reading, I noticed a comment: The world is trying to give us a gift – we are invited to love the world. The Chautauqua Institution is one of the primary gifts the world gives to me. It is a magical place that is, has been, and will continue to be, a gift, not only to me and tens of thousands of people every year, but to the world.

It is nestled on the shores of Lake Chautauqua, roughly 70 miles south of Buffalo, New York, and about 15 miles inland from Lake Erie, which is also a heart place for me.

According to author David Brooks, it is summer camp for NPR nerds. It was founded in 1874 – 150 years ago – as a summer training camp for Sunday school teachers – always undenominational,  although its founders were Methodists. The four pillars of Chautauqua are the Arts, Education, Recreation, and Religion.

The season runs for nine weeks, from late June to the end of August, with a “theme” for each week’s lectures. The themes this year (2024) included a week with opera singer Renee Fleming and scientist Dr. Francis Collins, who curated a week on Exploring the Transforming Power of Music; a week with Wynton Marsalis and the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra;  and a week on Water featuring National Geographic Explorers.

Each week there is also a Chaplain of the Week, who preaches at the Sunday morning “Big Church,” and then again at brief morning services Monday through Friday. Their choirs and the organist are superb.

Like everything at Chautauqua, you can partake in as little or as much of the programming as you desire, and you CANNOT do everything. There are classes you can take on topics from yoga to writing, pottery, photography, sailing, or improv. Or, you can sit on the beach, play shuffleboard, golf, or pickleball, listen to pop-up music on the plaza, or hang out at the library or in the fabulous bookstore.

I walk, and walk, and walk. Every evening there is entertainment, from the superb Chautauqua symphony to groups like the Beach Boys, the Indigo Girls, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, and dance and ballet troupes.

The first day we visited was on my birthday in 2010. We happened to be in the area, and it was THE last day of the season. On Sundays, the gates are wide open, so we spent the day, walking the grounds and enjoying the Sunday afternoon entertainment.

Since it was the last night, there was the final Sacred Song service, and the “three taps of the gavel” speech by the institution’s president, which closes out the season. That first night, I couldn’t understand the sense of melancholy as he tapped the gavel three times, but now I understand. This is a real community, not only for the 600 or so people who live on the grounds year around, but for those who spend a considerable amount of their summer there.

There are more of us than meet the eye. I now have an entire other family and community. Some spend the summer as long-time seasonal employees. Some are people like me who cobble together various housing options for the season. Most people though spend a week or two at Chautauqua every year. Then there are the wide-eyed newbies who are not sure what this magical place is all about. It is our duty to give directions and answer questions. 

Every Monday morning, I scan the crowd to see who might be there THIS week. I cheer when the lady who turned 100 this spring shows up, sitting in the front row, or when I spot my Pittsburgh Unitarian Universalist contingent, or the woman from Seattle, who lived a mile and a half from me for 20 years but whom I didn’t meet until we were waiting for Ken Burns’ lecture in 2014. I have met people from all over the country who are now life-long friends.

This year I met a lady in the Lutheran House who went to Camp Unistar when she lived in Wisconsin. This year, one of the speakers made an offhand comment in the Q&A about this little town near where I grew up, and it turns out his family owns the Mexican restaurant my family has frequented since my parents used to line up outside to grab two seats at the counter in 1947. We sat on a porch and talked about his family, the incredible turkey tacos, and what turns out to be his mom’s recipe for the cabbage salad that I (and others) have tried to replicate for decades with not much success. This was his first visit, as he was invited to speak. He couldn’t believe he’d made this connection 3,000 miles from home. He vows to return.

There is a new member of my church, whom I have yet to meet, who is best friends with the hostess of the Quaker House. That’s a whole other story. These are known as “Chautauqua moments”, and they are legend. We all have them, and we share them with laughs and sighs of joy forever after.

Planning for the next year starts anew almost immediately after one season ends, and dreams of the beach and reunions maintain us through the long winter months.

Copyright © 2025 by Trish Braga