Waubaushene

With thanks to Jana, who asked us to write about a favourite childhood place.

When the door first opens in the spring, we are met by the smell of mildew and mouse droppings, and the air is damp and cool. We fling open the windows and turn on the heat. In minutes, warm electric pushes the mildew away. We are tearing musty quilts off the beds and hanging them in the thin May sunshine.

In June, the sand is still cool between our toes; Jim brings the boat from storage and it’s a scramble to remember if the lifejackets spent the winter in the front hall closet or did we take them home and forget to bring them back?

By July the beach chairs have been moved back under the shade of the old oak. It’s lost more branches this year: there are patches of sky showing that were not there last year. We take buckets to the woods, fight off deer flies and dig up saplings, dotting them around the property so that John can run them down with the mower the next time he visits.

In August the water has grown low. The kids collect the clay lying below the water line; they craft birds, tea cups and ashtrays, though they were born long after the last smoker kicked the habit. In the long twilights we light fires on the beach. The old outhouse came down at last and its carcass flares up frighteningly fast. The last thing I see is the toilet paper holder, glowing red and orange as if to remind us September is coming.

And then October.

Dad lights the fire. Mom and I are flinging windows open because it’s so flipping hot in here. Shower after shower rolls over the water towards us and too late we remember the turkey was to go in the oven an hour ago. Then the weather clears. Sunlight bursts across the bay and ignites the trees on the shore opposite. We are dazzled by the colours, chatter excitedly. Mom says, “I wish I could call Poppa and tell him about this.”

The season rolls to its close. We gorge ourselves at lunch to empty the refrigerator: how did we end up with four bottles of mustard? Close the windows. Lock the door. Drive away.