LILY DALE, N.Y. — It was the last Friday in June, and this tiny community of pocket-size cottages, their white picket fences festooned with climbing roses, was performing an idealized version of small-town Americana. There was a flag raising with five veterans in full uniform (after which the crowd sang “America the Beautiful”); a butterfly release and four church services.

Everything adhered to a postcard quaintness, except for a couple of details: Many of the front doors were adorned with signs that read, “May Be Haunted,” and the church services seemed more like networking events for dead people.

“May I come to you, young lady?” asked Sherry Lee Calkins, a white-haired medium with an upturned nose and a sweet smile. She was channeling a spirit before a crowd that had come for the opening of Lily Dale’s summer season. The spirit seemed intent on dispensing cooking tips (encouraging one woman to bake with honey, and another to use more salt) and career advice (consider public speaking or writing, Ms. Calkins said to a third woman in a mauve head scarf, adding that the spirit was offering adjectives from the other side to help her do so, like a spectral thesaurus).