I once referred to the Lenhart Hotel in this column as a yellow sail bobbing on the shores of Bemus, and I rarely wrote an article about summer where I didn’t hold up the Lenhart as having one of the deep roots of life here at the lake. There are certain places in Chautauqua County that contribute to the timelessness and the specialness of our place on earth and the Lenhart is one of them.

I wish only good things for the Lenhart family as they hoist their yellow sail and glide away. And I want to thank them personally for a thousand beautiful sunsets from the perch of a rocking chair on their front porch from the time I was a baby ’til today. You have shared that timeless porch with countless visitors from around the world, offering a slice of our lake and our sky, devoured and loved for generations.

Thank you for never changing that priceless bar, whose tables seemed the same to me from the time that I was five. When I was old enough to drink, I think beer was less than a dollar a glass. And thanks for only taking cash in a world where cash is disappearing. I loved that old cash register on the front desk. Before I moved back to Lakewood ten years ago, I stayed at the Lenhart nearly every summer and I loved the fancy dinners and the five-course breakfasts and the beautiful dining room with waitstaff dressed from another era.

I loved walking down the grand staircase. I loved the ghost stories. I loved the bartenders and the front desk staff. I loved the Lenhart because it was what it is was without apology or any sort of wish to be a Holiday Inn. My babies toddled across that porch many times in their lifetime and now my grandchildren do. That’s called a legacy. The Lenhart was full of legacies and memories and traditions.

I don’t know what’s in store for the hotel specifically, although I did hear the new owners care about its history. I also heard they will be moving the bar to a new location inside and will be updating the rooms. And while we are all sad to say goodbye to an era, I’ll try to be fair and open minded because I loved the Lenhart just the way it is. In a world where things change in an hour, I counted on that place to stay the same.

I am reminded of a quote about letting things go and being excited and expectant of what’s to come. We watched the Surf Club — that iconic bastion of young adult fun and rock and roll and late night carousing — sit empty for a long time or even serve tacos for a few years–and we got over that, didn’t we? And now we sit there amongst the flowers and the gorgeous boat house decor and order fancy beer or gourmet burgers and it’s like the EBC was always there. I think old timers are forgiving of change as long as there’s value added to the community. We live in a place that’s slow to change, thank god, and new businesses should be sensitive to time and place.

Look, no one visits the Institution or Bemus Point because they’re looking for Dubai. They come looking for Victorian charm, for old barns, old cottages, wooden Chris-Craft boats, old ferries. The same can be said for New England or Charleston. People visit and love this place because it is what it is: it’s special, it’s timeless, it reminds us of our better past.

My niece came to visit my brother who lives on the lake and for a week, she watched the sunset every night. She’s traveled and seen a lot in her life, but she was once again blown away by the sheer beauty of our place. She said it was in the same league as many of the special places she has traveled to.

It seems others have discovered this. But growth and change are a two-sided coin and it’s not always easy to see housing prices double or special places close or neighbors move away. For people my age especially, we were a witness to the old days when the only people occupying lake front property were fishermen and the heartiest of us. I remember Mr. Werner, who lived next door to our cottage growing up. He was a true lake guy–could fix anything–knew about docks and storms and bats and fishing lures.

I don’t see the likes of him anymore. And I miss him. But I’m certain he must have told me once that nothing stays the same.