Lazy by the Lake

This was the way to look at things from a different side.

My boyfriend, Rich, and I take frequent day trips to Big Bear Lake, with its rental speedboats, bustling village and chairlifts that whisk lazy mountain bikers like us to the top of mountains.

But on a Sunday drive around the lake last summer, we came upon a house on the north shore with a sprawling porch overlooking a yard so green that it glowed in the afternoon sun. A croquet set, a double hammock and a forest-green canoe promised leisurely pleasures.

Then we noticed that this large log house, surrounded by a fence of climbing roses, had a sign: the Inn at Fawnskin.

Immediately I pictured us lounging on the hammock on that green, green lawn.

The vision started to come to life on a Friday afternoon a couple of weeks later when we checked in at the four-room inn. Owner and chef Kathy Murphy, a friendly, down-to-earth woman, used that opportunity to quiz us about our breakfast preferences. Kathy does all the cooking and cleaning. Her husband, Todd, commutes to a job in Orange County.

Kathy invited us to join another couple in the den, with its pool table and wet bar, to sip a glass of wine. That’s when I was reminded why I’m skittish about intimate bed-and-breakfasts like this one. As the other guests recounted their many career accomplishments, extensive travels and the sterling attributes of their son-in-law-to-be, Rich and I started to fidget. We looked at each other and thought of the inn’s canoe on the front porch. It was our ticket out.

We carried the canoe across the road through a field of wildflowers to the water. We pushed off the bank and slid into quietness. The only sounds were fish that flopped out of the water and Rich’s exasperated snorts whenever I neglected to paddle because I was too busy admiring the scenery.

Through trial and error we, canoe novices, figured out how to navigate and soon were maneuvering through Grout Bay. As the sun set, the few fishing boats headed home and we had this corner of the lake to ourselves.

The sky turned pink, then gold and reflected in the water all around us. In our lone canoe, I felt that I had been transported to the front of a greeting card. Indeed, when we hit the shore, a Japanese tourist with a camera ran up to us.

“Your canoe,” she said. “Much beauty it adds to the lake!”

We decided to make the 15-minute drive to the village of Big Bear Lake to eat at Fred and Mary’s, a recently opened restaurant.

The food was special. Rich and I shared a salad of hearts of romaine with a thick, pungent garlic dressing and Parmesan crisps. My entree was chicken breast pounded flat and tender, then stuffed with spinach and goat cheese and rolled. The chicken was served atop a slightly sweet sauce surrounding a spicy eggplant caponata and tiny roasted potatoes. Rich thought his salmon in a couscous crust was dry, but it had a grand presentation on a bed of artichoke ratatouille. We hoped, as we left, that the restaurant would survive its wobbly first years.

We returned to the dark, silent inn about midnight. Creeping up the stairs to our second-floor room, we felt like teenagers sneaking in after curfew.

The next morning, over apple pancakes, I asked Kathy and Todd whether there had been any problems with strangers sharing a breakfast table and relatively close quarters. Todd said they had been delighted with 95% of their guests and had seen the start of long-term friendships among people who met at the inn.

But then he told wickedly funny stories about the other 5%: One couple, for instance, cornered Todd for hours of romantic counseling. Then there were the overly amorous guests who had to be told to quiet down.

The inn’s hand-hewn walls are not thin, but it may not be the best choice for those planning an unbridled tryst. The trade-off in feeling like a house guest instead of an anonymous hotel patron is the socializing and Kathy’s constant homemade snacks.

We lingered over breakfast, laughing and happily chatting with Todd and Kathy and two other couples staying at the inn. The lively conversation made me forget my earlier antisocial sentiment and reminded me that sometimes it’s fun to be thrown into a group.

The inn really was built for socializing. It was originally owned by Hal and Tillie Jones, beloved locals who hosted Christmas parties for the children in town. They liked to entertain and had plenty of extra rooms for overnight guests. Eleven years ago the house was converted to an inn, and the Murphys bought it in 1996.

After breakfast, guests go their own way. One couple, who the evening before had ridden their bikes two miles straight up to the Strawberry Peak fire tower, were off on a 30-mile loop to Green Valley Lake. We went hiking.

We drove the five minutes to Big Bear Discovery Center. Recently the center, which has exhibits, an observation deck and wonderful docents, extended a paved biking and jogging trail that now connects to the trail head of Cougar Crest, the route we wanted to take.

The trail started out wide, but soon narrowed into tight uphill switchbacks that led to the ridge dividing the lake from the sweeping Holcomb Valley. From the top we watched the boats on the lake. We also spotted many cyclists pedaling around the lake and decided to go back to the inn, get the bikes we had carted with us, and join them.

We took the bike equivalent of a stroll, just checking out the north side of the lake. We stopped at the cozy Northshore Cafe for chicken Boursin sandwiches.

After lunch I wanted a nap back at the inn. The comfortable bed was piled with country quilts; old photographs hung on the walls. It was sweet, but nothing to scare those with an aversion to teddy bears. A slender volume on top of the bureau caught my eye. It was a self-published autobiography, and soon I was caught up in the life of spunky Luise, Todd’s aunt, and her husband, who was a scientist and spy during World War II.

We were in a quandary in the late afternoon because there were so many activities to choose from. Should we play the fancy Scrabble game set up in the corner or shoot pool or play pingpong outside or just lie in the hammock? We opted for the hammock.

For dinner we headed to an old favorite, Paoli’s Italian Country Kitchen. The service is friendly but can be excruciatingly slow. The food is not fancy, but you can’t go wrong with one of the thick bread pizzas and an inexpensive Chianti. Besides, we thought we needed to carbo-load because we were planning to take our bikes to the Snow Summit resort the next day and try some strenuous trails.

But the next morning the lake lay glassy smooth, and instead of mountain bikes we chose the canoe, carrying it once again through a field of wildflowers to slide it into the water and glide across the tranquil lake.

During our visit Todd snapped a digital picture of us in that hammock, and he recently e-mailed it to us. In it, he used electronic magic to change the leaves from their deep summer green to rich fall colors. Maybe this winter we’ll get a picture of us in the hammock surrounded by snow. I’ve already decided the inn’s living room, warmed by its big fireplace, would be a nice place to while away a snowy weekend.

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Budget for Two

The Inn at Fawnskin, two nights: $233.00

Dinner, Fred and Mary’s: 62.22

Lunch, Northshore Cafe: 23.43

Dinner, Paoli’s: 2.77

Gas: $20.00

FINAL TAB: $381.42

The Inn at Fawnskin, 880 Canyon Road, Fawnskin, CA; tel. (909) 866-3200.