Revisiting my memories

 

 

The view from the picture window of the “Cabin on the Hill” at Bon Echo Provincial Park makes me want to cry. And not just because of the way the sun sets on the 300-foot rock face on fire at the end of the day – a scene that has inspired countless artists to honour its beauty in their work. I get emotional because this particular panorama reminds me of when I was 16 years old, swimming across the lake, climbing that cliff with friends, dining on blueberries and jumping off ledges into the cool, black water below.

I learned to waterski on this lake. My dad never stopped teaching, even during the summer. At 6am he’d wake my sister and me and we would dress quickly to join other puffy-eyed characters on the beach. The water was smooth as a mirror at that time of day. The only sound, an occasional loon call. On a school day, we teens would long for a few extra minutes of sleep. Not at Bon Echo. We were up at the ‘crack of sparrow fart’, ready to start our day.

We ran in packs, to the soundtrack of “Synchronicity” by The Police. At lunchtime we would run home to our respective campsites to scarf down ham and cheese sandwiches or a plate of camper’s charcuterie left behind for us by our parents: cheddar, kolbassa and dill pickles atop Ritz crackers.

Our bellies full, we would head back to the main beach for sunbathing, floating on rafts and spouting the wisdom of young people who would one day rule the world.When the sun finally dipped behind the rock we would pack up our towels and rush home to eat camp dinners with our families: beans and wieners, Kraft dinner with tuna, grilled burgers and corn on the cob. We sped through washing the dishes because at 6pm we were due at the camp ball diamond where Mrs. Watson organized a game six days a week. Our parents brought lawnchairs and socialized on the sidelines. Afterwards we took our sweaty, sandy bodies to the lake for a moonlit swim or headed to the showers to wash up.

Dressing in hoodies, jeans and sneakers, we would meet after dusk at a designated campsite for marshmallows over the fire. Sometimes we played pranks on each other, like waiting until someone had been in the outdoor shower long enough to be fully soaped up – then turning the water off and watching from the bushes as the screaming ensued.

It’s no wonder Bon Echo is one of my favourite places in the world. It’s a magical place on its own but for me it holds a big piece of my childhood.

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