• Courtesy Of Monica Darling
• White Cottage Snack Bar on Monday, July 10, at 4:43 p.m.

John Hurley's mother showed not a hint of hesitation when he asked her, 34 years ago, if he should buy White Cottage Snack Bar.

It's like Bubbling Brook, he told her, the been-there-forever, summers-only restaurant with five ice cream windows in Westwood, Mass., where he grew up. White Cottage had opened in Woodstock in 1957. A shoebox with white tongue-and-groove siding and striped awnings, it sat above the Ottauquechee River, a mile west of the quaint village. Its retro vibe endeared the roadside spot to locals and visitors alike.

Hurley was 27, itching to be his own boss and drawn to the restaurant business.

"Buy it," his mother told him.

With her blessing, a partner and the AT&T stock he inherited from his grandfather, Hurley bought himself a sweet slice of summer. And when he sat there last Wednesday, two days after the river had jumped its banks and encircled his restaurant like a gang of bullies before barging through the front doors and trashing the place for the second time in 12 years, he didn't hesitate when asked about reopening.

Tropical Storm Irene had pushed the snack bar off its foundation and destroyed it in 2011. Hurley, the sole owner then and now, rebuilt it better: He moved it 25 feet farther from the river, raised it 18 inches, enclosed the space where the awnings had been, and added heat, nicer bathrooms and a second story. He and his young staffers no longer had to climb a ladder to reach the crawl space above the ice cream cooler when they needed more napkins.

But the river came for White Cottage again last week. It rose first on Monday morning, crawled over its banks and covered the parking lot before receding. White Cottage had stayed closed. Staff had pulled picnic tables away from the river and moved their "mascot," a red-and-white 1957 Ford Crown Victoria, to higher ground.

By 2 p.m., more rain pummeled Woodstock, and when the river rose this time, it came up fast. Around 4:30, Monica Darling was in her front yard across the street from the snack bar, digging a trench in the rain to redirect a stream that runs through the yard away from her house. She walked up to her house for a moment, and when she turned back, water covered the yard. It stretched across Route 4 to the snack bar, where it swept away 10 picnic tables, three wrought-iron tables and their chairs, and a split-rail fence. It took two dumpsters, two double swings and carried booths two miles downriver.

It rose about two and a half feet inside the snack bar — rearranging furniture and tossing around ice cream coolers — before turning back toward its bank, roiling and churning and devouring great mouthfuls of asphalt and rock before slamming into its channel at the restaurant's grassy picnic area and roaring on.

• Mary Ann Lickteig
• Server Melisa Simpson pushing water out the door last Thursday

By early evening, White Cottage, the picture-perfect purveyor of fried clams, burgers and ice cream, stood stripped and exposed amid puddles and rocks.

So did Hurley consider, even for a moment, not reopening?

"No," he said. He will turn 62 in September. "This is my retirement. I gotta sell it someday. And to just walk away from it would be stupid."

And so, less than 48 hours after the water receded, two concrete mixers were pouring cement under the southwest corner of the building, where the river had gouged out earth underneath. One day blurred to the next, as Hurley focused on his mission: clean, clean, clean and find fill to repair the parking lot.

Cooks and servers pushed muddy water out the door with a broom and a squeegee. They carried out trash bags of coleslaw, tartar sauce and ice cream. A faint odor of souring milk rose from a pile they'd started. Bananas sat in the sun next to boxes of chocolate and rainbow sprinkles. Meant to unite in a banana split, they were now destined for a dumpster.

Quit? Trips to the Bubbling Brook had always been a treat for Hurley, and he grew up to be the guy providing that treat for kids. "It's like going to the fair," he said. When they stand at the order window and he asks them what kind of ice cream they're going to get after dinner, their eyes light up. "It's a very rewarding business," he said.

Kids in town sold lemonade and cookies last week to help the White Cottage recover. Hurley's 10-year mortgage turned into a 20-year mortgage after Irene, and he expects to lose money this year. The improvements he made didn't keep floodwaters out, but this time he's in the slightly better position of repairing, not rebuilding. When the assistant state fire marshal and an electrical inspector made a joint visit last week, Hurley demonstrated what he'd learned from Irene: Outlets were three and a half feet off the floor, he showed them; the electrical panel was upstairs.

"Perfect. I love it already," electrical inspector Frank Small said.

Although White Cottage also flooded in 1973, the Ottauquechee is normally shallow behind the restaurant — too low for kayaking and tubing. Families splash and wade, and everyone shows up on the last day of school — "the moment school was out," Diana Brown reminisced on Facebook. On graduation day, kids get free ice cream. "I figure at that point, I probably made enough money off you," Hurley joked. "A little give-back."

Moms get a discount on Mother's Day. And when the season ends on Indigenous Peoples' Day, staffers close the doors and pop Champagne. Anyone who comes back the next day to help button up the place for the winter gets an extra week's pay.

"I'm probably dreaming," Hurley said on Thursday, but he hopes to open for takeout this week. Then he'll set up the booths he can salvage and supplement with some cheap chairs to finish the season.

At press time, Hurley had high hopes, thinking he could reopen the snack bar this Friday. He planned to set up the booths he can salvage and supplement with some cheap chairs to finish the season. The dining room will be a little bit ugly, he wrote on Facebook. “But open!!!”