Completed in 1975 from a house kit ordered from a New York Times ad, my family’s summer home in western Pennsylvania features all the wood paneling and harvest gold appliances one would expect of that era.

The house has its quirks. The builder installed all of the plumbing backwards, so if you want to turn on the cold water in any sink or bathtub, you have to counterintuitively turn the knob counterclockwise. The showers were designed for people 4 feet tall. My dad stood 6 feet, 4 inches. We adjusted, learned to duck beneath the shower spouts.

It’s a summer residence only. There’s no insulation, just a couple of fireplaces and baseboard heating for the occasional winter visit. My father liked to bring his snowmobile out on the frozen lake in wintertime. My brother and I liked to walk across the foot-thick ice to the distant shore.

In Clearfield County, the house is in a community called Treasure Lake, just 65 miles from State College, where my mom and stepdad live year-round. On the last day of the school year, my mother would pack the family station wagon full, round up my older brother and sister and I, and make the drive. That hour and 15 minute trek seemed so far in those days, when we would move to the lake house for the summer. My father liked to get away for those warmer months and enjoy relaxed lake living. He could still easily commute to his office.

In June, my siblings and I would tearfully say goodbye to our “school” friends and come out on the other end of the drive to happily greet our “lake” friends.

There were so many choices for how to spend my day. I could swim and play on the beach, fish for sunnies and bluegills off a neighbor’s dock, search for frogs and crayfish on the shore, visit a pool (and drive my lifeguard sister crazy), hunt for stray golf balls on the course to sell back to the golfers for 25 cents, ride my bike on dirt trails, or go waterskiing off my dad’s jet boat. I had all the time and freedom in the world to explore the outdoors. Until Labor Day.

It was, I realize now, my happy place as a kid. I lived the best of both worlds: the school year in the “city” and summer in the “country.”

Returning to the house as an adult evokes all the old feelings. It smells the same, a bit musty from being shut most of the year and from the bats and other critters who winter there. Most of the original harvest gold kitchen appliances and countertops remain, and the view of the deep green-blue lake never changes. My childhood bedroom, shared with my sister, still has the twin beds and white-and-yellow accents, posters of teddy bears and Holly Hobbie paintings on the walls.

Not a lot of improvements were made over the years — new carpeting and some more modern furniture added, but the aesthetic is the same.

I was there for a day this month to say goodbye. It was a hot and humid 90-some-degree July day, the kind that leaves a sheen of sweat on your skin in a house with no air conditioning. So I spent most of my time floating in the lake with my mom, a friend and her son. The lake was bustling, full of boats and jet skis, the beach next to the house full of families.

I didn’t have time to visit all my old haunts, or to dwell on the fact that it was probably my last visit. My parents recently put the house up for sale, which I know was inevitable. They are finding it hard to keep up with all of the house chores and making time to visit since we kids have moved far away.

As I pulled out of the driveway en route to the Pittsburgh airport to make my way back to Colorado, I felt my chest tighten and choked back the tears. Could it really be the last time I’d enjoy the lake view from that deck, play a leisurely game of cards there with my mom?

I wished I had left time for a drive around the lake or one last round on the golf course. But maybe it’s better to pull the Band-Aid off quickly, remember the good times and not dwell on the loss. It always was a bit emotional to pack up the car and take in one more view of the water when it was time to return to reality.

I’m guessing the new owners will raze the place and build a modern dwelling on the lakefront lot, which I always thought has the best view of the 8-mile, 379-acre lake.

But after seeing it again, I hope they can appreciate it the way it is. Maybe they’ll get a kick out of the backward plumbing, the ’70s-style wood paneling in every room, the crabgrass and the rocky shore.

I hope their kids seek out the old rope swing across the way, swim down to dam at the end of the channel, roam between the pools and marina, explore the old ski slope, and ride their bikes around the lake. It’s a place that’s meant for kids.

I hope it becomes their happy place.