What started as a necessity -- sleeping on the dock -- turned into a pleasantry. My husband and I were introduced to this lake-living delight while our house was under construction.

Like many lake-area residents, we built our dock first. When our grown children joined us for a week of water-skiing, we rented a houseboat and tied it up to our dock. The kids used the houseboat bunks, and we pitched a tent on the boat's top deck so everyone would have a bit more space and privacy.

But the first morning we awoke to a drenching rain, and the "waterpoof" wicked water inside when anything touched the wet sides. With rain in the forecast, things looked bleak for the topside tent campers. Feeling soggy through and through, we welcomed a scheduled appointment that would take us into Westlake.

Upon our return, our childlren had moved the tent under the roof of the dock. It was so convenient that we left it under cover even after the rain ended. With an inflatable queen-sized mattress inside, the little tent made for a comfortable bedroom.

The next time we visited our lot to check on home construction progress, we decided sleeping on the dock in our tent was the logical lodging solution. The dockhouse had a little dorm-type refrigerator, and we cooked using a George Foreman Grill, a little microwave and our old electric coffee pot.

Staying on the dock was heavenly -- there was not a mosquito around -- a big change from our experience renting lake cabins in the Midwest, where there were always hungry insects dive-bombing the bed when the lights went out. Morning brought a mirror-like view of the undisturbed lake surface.

The surprising bonus we received was the host of lake noises. The evening's stillness was restful, and we were serenaded to sleep by crickets, an occasional "whip-poor-willlll" and the "hoo-hoo" of owls.

One night we were awakened by what sounded like a cement block being dropped off the dock -- a deep "ker-thunk" with an explosive "sploosh."

"What was that?" we asked.

"Sounds like the mob dumping a body," I said.

The next day, knowledgeable locals (our builder's helpers) informed us that a diving beaver is known to make that sound. But we never heard it again.

Another thing we've learned is that dock sleepers should turn in early because birds start singing well before sunrise. It's a true delight to just lie there and listen to their symphony.

We did find it difficult for creaky old bones to get vertical from a floor-level mattress. So we devised a rope attached to a dock piling that we could reach from the tent door. We'd grab the rope and pull ourselves upright, much like a water-ski pull up.

We've slept on the dock many times, though it's a little less tempting when there are comfy beds and hot showers just ashore. But we now have a second tent for visiting nephews and nieces, and they will tell you that a night spent on the dock is an unforgettable part of their lake experience.

-- Ferne Hale