Vignettes From My Childhood

Vignettes from my Childhood.



The Camping Trip



I remember well the day my dad bought the big tent and we all had such wonderful dreams of camping. “C’mon Dad, let’s go camping today,” we cried until finally he gave in and we launched our newest adventure.



I suppose one couldn’t call what we did camping. It was more like transporting the contents of our house to another place. A place that was neither as sanitary nor comfortable as home. But we didn’t care. We were young and adventurous and we yelled louder than Mom, so we prevailed.



We took the tent, two parents, three kids, lots of food, sleeping bags, bathing suits, and snorkel equipment. Oh yes, and a dog. And a very pregnant cat. Our animals always traveled with us. We had pets that, over the years, racked up thousands of miles.



We pitched our tent on the rocky shores of Presq’ile. We should have known it wouldn’t turn out well. Mom didn’t really want to go. After all my older brother and I did our very best to lure our younger brother into the deep water. Then we would stand one behind the other and he would swim through our outspread legs. She spent the whole time counting how many minutes and seconds he was under water; this usually gave her a headache and a keen desire to go home.



My father always said “Don’t worry about them Marie. They are all good swimmers. They’ll be alright.” And we always were. Indeed my younger brother swam like a fish. It was necessary because we kept him swimming under water as much as we could. I remember that he could hold his breath longer than anyone else we knew, even the adults. Of course, every time he did it, my mother would have a fit and shout at us. “Where’s Butch? Why is he staying under so long? Is he all right? Get under there and find him.” When you consider he was only five years old, I guess her concern could be understood.



But we three loved to swim. We loved the water and were comfortable staying in it for hours. And, as my father said, we could all swim very well. So could the dog. And the cats- after we threw them in the water. It was equal opportunity teasing. So camping struck us as great fun.



Only now, so many years later, do I really realize how difficult swim sessions were for my mother. I guess I also understand why we only went camping once.



We lived on Georgian Bay in a small city called Owen Sound. The area around Georgian Bay was called Blue Water Country because the water always looked bright blue. The bay has a rock bottom and reflects the sky. Also because of the rock bottom the water stays very cold even in high summer. There were no sand beaches near us but we didn’t care. We jumped into the water on the 24th of May, no matter that our lips turned blue and our skin was covered with goose bumps, and my mother was hard pressed to get us to stay out unless there was actually snow on the ground or ice on the water.



Excitement ran rampant when we reached the spot where we were going to pitch the tent. If you remember, I said Georgian Bay has a rock bottom. Well the beach was rocks too. Mom and dad had cots to sleep on; we three would have to sleep on the ground on canvas air mattresses. We cleared the rocks as best we could and Dad used them to make a fire pit. We had only two mattresses and there was a short skirmish over who was going to sleep with Butch. He was only five and occasionally had accidents. Of course, Ken won. He was eleven. No way was he going to sleep with a girl, or a bed wetter. After that was settled it was time for fun.



It was only one o’clock in the afternoon. None of us was thinking about bedtime. We had a whole glorious afternoon and evening to enjoy before we had to settle. So, immediately the tent was up and the beds made, we jumped in the water and set about breaking the record for holding our breath under water. All three of us joined in the competition to drive our mother to distraction. We stayed in the water until our lips were blue, then sat around the fire to get warm before heading back into the water.



Both Mom and Dad had bathing suits but they didn’t join in the fun. Dad had a bar of soap and brought it out to us. This was one time we didn’t complain about having a bath. Of course, we scrabbled and fought over the soap and tried to get suds in each other’s eyes and mouths.



Eventually we were called in and after drying off, we had to put on our pajamas. There was a lot of complaining but after checking out the strained look on our mother’s face, we decided discretion was the better part of valour and ceased the noise.



Far out over the bay there was lightning and the low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. Dad said the storm was blowing the other way and we would be fine. The storm would stay out on the water. However, he did take the time to give us a lecture about how to act in a tent when it was raining. “And for heavens sake, don’t touch the canvas when it’s wet. The tent will leak wherever you touch it.”



Ken looked at me. I looked at Ken, and we knew. Touching the tent was the first thing we were going to do if it rained on us.



Mom was trying to make a warm dinner on a tiny sterno stove that was giving out very little heat when the heavens opened and rain poured out.



Everyone grabbed whatever they could and carried it into the tent. Dad tripped over the dog that was cowering at his feet whining to be picked up and lost a whole frying pan full of bacon and eggs. Mom was behind him and she tripped over him and spilled the water she had boiled for tea. Fortunately, it missed all living creatures but landed on Ken’s bed and soaked his bedding. I smirked at him. “So there. You have to sleep in a wet bed anyway. Na na nana na na.”



By the time we got the flaps closed most of the bedding was soaked, and Ken was happily drawing pictures on the canvas above my mattress. Of course, that started another commotion and we three were relegated to the back of the tent with loud admonitions to stop fighting and look after the animals.



After cleaning up the mess, Dad announced that he thought we had enough dry bedding for the night but the three of us would all have to sleep on the one dry mattress. Before we even got our mouths to speak, he held his hand up and said, “The first one who complains gets this on his butt. That made us settle. Dad always carried out his threats.



Mom opened a can of pork and beans and buttered some bread and that was supper. We kids were silent now. We heard Mom trying to convince Dad that we should go home. Everyone would have pneumonia by tomorrow.



To our great joy, Dad convinced her that things would be better tomorrow. He lit the Coleman lantern and we all settled in for a quiet evening. We got out our library books and tried to read, but it wasn’t easy what with the three of us all tangled up in one space and the light wasn’t very bright anyway. Mom was reading a story to Butch and eventually Ken and I dropped our books and listened. The dog curled up at Ken’s feet and the cat lay on my pillow with her nose snuggled in my hair and. Mom’s soothing voice lulled me to sleep.



I woke up to Mom’s screaming. “Oh my God! The cat is having her kittens in Betty’s hair.” Butch was yelling “Let me see! Let me see!” And Ken, who was taking a closer look yelled “Here comes another one!”



Dad lifted cat and kittens away from me, and Mom grabbed my arm and dragged me to the water to wash my hair.



“That’s it Howard. Get that mess cleaned up and we’re going home,” yelled my Mom.



Mom didn’t yell often, but when she did everyone jumped into action. Dad found a box, put the cat in it with her kittens (five in all), and packed up everything. We headed home amid sobs from Butch and me and sotto voice complaints from Ken.



It was two am when we got home and we were sent directly to bed. Mom made a pot of tea and she and dad ‘discussed’ the futility of it all. I couldn’t hear much of the conversation even though I tried. All I heard was a lot of muttering and one definite “Never Again!” from Mom.



So, that was it. Our camping experience. Dad did set up the tent on the front lawn and we played in it all summer.



The next summer, my dad built a cottage and we slept safely indoors. However, the cottage was right on the water and my poor mother could still see us when we swam. We were well into our teens before she felt she could relax.



Often, in my mind, I travel back to those days. I can still recall the smell of wet canvas and then the resulting mildew. I can feel the squish between my toes of silt on the rocks in the water. We called it loony –toon –toon because Ken said it was made of seagull poop. I recall so much laughter and pure joy. So many memories.