When I was a toddler my father dragged the entire family to a remote area in behind Goulais Bay. As the story is told it was dusk when we arrived, and the mosquitoes were beginning to swarm. My parents picked their way through the trees and brush to the waterfront. The view that awaited them didn't disappoint. The sand on the shore was fine and light, and the sun setting over Lake Superior was breath-taking. Land was quickly purchased, and a cabin erected.
In Southern Ontario people say, "I'm off to the cottage." But we Northern Ontarians say, "I'm going to camp."
I don't remember what it was like to not have a camp. When I was small, our cabin was a rough unfinished shell with tarps strung up over two-by-fours to divide the bedrooms the kids slept in. (Only my parents' room had walls.) Our meals were cooked at a wood stove, which also provided heat if summer nights grew cool. We had no plumbing. My father would row far out into the lake to fill buckets of drinking water. Our wash basin and dish pan were filled at the shoreline.
There were rituals at camp...Mornings began with my father yelling, "Up and at'em!" and hustling us all down to the beach, where the basin would be waiting on a large stump. We'd all wash faces and hands, and head back inside for breakfast. I have great memories of eating breakfast at camp, which usually consisted of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and hot chocolate. Food always tasted better at Nil's Bay.
In the evenings after admiring the sunset from the picture window in our living room, we'd play cards or board games by lamp light until it was time for bed. "Last call for the outhouse!" my mother would tell us. "If you don't go now you'll have to pee in the pot!" The old chamber pot was too undignified for most of us to want to risk, so off we'd file to take turns in the out-house. Mom usually went first, after giving the side of the plywood structure a good whack - "to scare off the critters". (At one time or another most of us entered that outhouse to find it occupied - snakes, skunks and even porcupines sometimes found their way in.)
Days were spent outside, unless the weather was foul or you had a wicked sunburn. (Those days were spent inside reading ancient issues of Reader's Digest and Good Housekeeping, or the dusty old books and readers that filled the bookcase.) Otherwise, you spent the day on the beach and in the water OR playing in the woods behind the cabin. (We built a community of forts back there, with the highly original name of "Fortsville"). Some days we took long treks along the shore "beach combing" and hauling back "pretty rocks" and buoys and chunks of driftwood. Other times we'd hike along the back road, stopping to pick raspberries wherever a good patch presented itself.
As I child I loved it out there, but as a teenager I balked - preferring to spend time with my friends. When I was in my late teens the cabin got electricity, which I thought kind of spoiled the romance of the place. My husband jokes that he arrived on the scene at the perfect time - the cabin got an indoor toilet earlier that summer. The annual trek to camp has been a tradition for the two of us and our sons, and I have had the satisfaction of seeing my boys enjoy the same pastimes I used to - jumping the waves, building sand castles and taking rowboat rides.
The cabin has been sold, and I'm about to help my mother pack up the remaining belongings and clean the place out for its new owners. (I have the sinking feeling they will bulldoze our cabin, and build a home there.) I am not looking forward to this last visit.
My father grew up on Cockburn Island, and he loved being near the water. I'm grateful that he gave us the opportunity to enjoy the simple pleasures of his youth, and to build memories on the shores of Lake Superior.
Superior - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg, March '06
Fortresses upon her shores
my small hands built with skill,
and hands grown larger dipped the oars
into her waters still.
Treasures that she offered me
I carried in my hands -
peace offerings, strewn carelessly
upon her sodden sands.
I've seen sun's fiery orb subside
into her silent deep,
and rhythmic movements of her tide
were prelude to my sleep.
She was the backdrop on our stage
through acts of youthful play -
dramatic was her stormy rage
upon our sheltered bay.
Romantic feelings she'd invite
beneath a dazzling sun -
though she'd oft' seduced by moonlight
the lovers that she won.
I long for her untamed beauty
whenever we're apart,
but memories she's given me
I cherish in my heart.
(RIP "Sunset View" 1963-2011)
PS - Family members have visited our old stretch of the beach since we sold the cabin, thanks to the generous offer of our former next-door neighbour. The cabin still stands, with a few improvements and a nicer deck. From what I've observed, even most of the trees survived the new owner's chainsaw! - SFK, 2014
