There was a time on Keuka Lake when the day did not begin with the turn of a car key…
it began with a bell.
Somewhere down the road — sometimes carried across the water itself — you could hear it.
A bright metallic ding-ding floating over morning mist and vineyard rows.
The trolley was coming.
In 1897 the little electric railway stitched together Penn Yan, Keuka Park, Bluff Point, and Branchport. Not loudly, not hurriedly — but faithfully. It moved at the pace of conversation. At the pace of a Sunday afternoon. At the pace people lived then.
Farmers rode it to town with baskets and parcels.
Students climbed aboard to ride into Penn Yan for school.
Families dressed in their summer best carried picnic tins and blankets.
And in the evenings — the best rides of all — couples stepped on with nowhere urgent to be.
Windows open.
Lake air drifting through.
The gentle sway of steel on rail.
You didn’t stare at a phone.
You watched sunlight slide across the water.
Where the Rails Led After Sunset
At the turn of the 20th century, long before arcades, movie theaters, or even reliable roads around Keuka Lake, Penn Yan briefly had something extraordinary: a trolley-park amusement resort glowing with electric lights along the water’s edge.
It was called Electric Park, and it stood at Brandy Bay — a place now quiet, but once alive with music, laughter, and summer crowds arriving by boat and rail.
Brandy Bay became Penn Yan’s version of Coney Island — just scaled to the rhythm of a lakeside village.
At Brandy Bay stood Electric Park — music, laughter, lanterns glowing over the shoreline. The trolley delivered the night to people. Band concerts, dancing, the low murmur of a crowd gathered not around entertainment… but around each other.
Some arrived by steamboat and returned by trolley.
A perfect Keuka loop.
The Place Still Exists
Electric parks across the country faded quickly — and Brandy Bay’s was no different.
Brandy Bay absolutely still exists on Keuka Lake.
What’s gone is the amusement park… not the place.
Brandy Bay is a natural cove on the northeast side of Keuka Lake, just south of the village of Penn Yan along East Lake Road. Today it’s a quiet residential shoreline with cottages, docks, and calm water — but in the early 1900s it briefly held the glowing lights of Electric Park.
Stand there now and you would never guess crowds once gathered under electric bulbs reflected in the dark water.
A Lake That Moved People Together
Imagine that — a day measured not in notifications, but in arrivals.
The trolley carried more than passengers.
It carried mail. Groceries. News. Stories.
It carried the understanding that the villages around this crooked lake belonged to one another.
Long before we spoke of community, the rails quietly practiced it.
By 1927 automobiles replaced the line. The tracks were pulled up, the wires gone, and the bell rang no more. Progress came — faster, convenient, efficient.
And yet…
Sometimes when the lake is still, and the morning is soft enough, you can almost imagine you hear it again. A faint echo traveling the shoreline — not really sound, but memory.
Because places remember the ways we once moved through them.
Keuka was never meant to be hurried.
Perhaps that is why even today, we come here to slow down.
Stay a while.
Listen carefully.
You might just hear the bell.
A Keuka Roots Thought:
Perhaps every place holds an echo of how it once lived — and here on Keuka, it isn’t found in the speed of getting somewhere, but in the grace of going together. The trolley is gone, yet the rhythm remains: neighbors greeting neighbors, porches instead of platforms, and roads that still follow the memory of rails. Maybe that is why the lake keeps calling us back — not just to visit, but to belong.
Stay Rooted. Stay Keuka. πΏ
