The Lake

The lake was so big and deep. It was a shimmering surface of blue diamonds. Lake Doré—the lake at the campground where our summer trailer lived. My family would make the long, winding drive up there every season. We would stop along the way at a small town grocery store and stock up on milk, bread, marshmallows, and other basic cottage essentials. But my favourite was always, the sticky buns.

Cinnamon-sugar infused, gooey sweetness. I recently reached out to the grocery store, on social media, to see if they still made the saccharine confection. And low and behold, they do! It’s a long drive though, so I’m not sure I’ll make it anytime soon.

Plus, I recall returning to Lake Doré about a decade after my parents sold the camper, to relive the enchantment of my childhood. But, it wasn’t the same. The beach seemed smaller and the lake, much more shallow. It was a big disappointment to me and my brother, who had made the trip with our dad. I complained to my mother afterwards, “The lake is so small now!” And she replied, “You were little then. The lake hasn’t changed. You have.”

However, sunny memories still remain. Like the time I found a crisp, pink, two dollar bill (back before they morphed into shiny coins) abandoned in a field. And I proudly bought my family corn-on-the-cob for dinner, fresh off the tractor. And the time my uncle visited and made himself into a mud monster, chasing us around the beach. Then, of course, there’s the campfires, where we gathered round and roasted marshmallows by the handful—their melted centres encased in golden, crispy shells.

Yet, one of my favourite pastimes at the lake was feeding the chipmunks. We would lure them out of the forest that surrounded our campsite, with fresh sunflower seeds. Their tiny, furry forms would crawl up and down our arms and legs, as we made little trails of seeds for them to follow.

And then there were the wild bear scares. Campers would be warned of brown bear sightings and advised to stay off certain trails. I learned never to run away or climb a tree when encountering a bear—because they are faster and better climbers than humans. I was never worried though, as I was certain that I would just become friends with the bear. Silly adults; they didn’t understand.

Then there was the Rec Hall, where a small canteen was run by the owner’s wife. It was a kid’s candyland dream. We’d happily fill little brown paper bags with colourful gummy candies and a piece of long red licorice. But this was only a special treat—reserved for the long ride home.

Because all good things eventually come to an end. The ride home. The sale of the trailer. Growing up. Moving on. What begins, must conclude. What starts, will finish. The end of an era. Childhood never lasts. Only the memories remain. But then, they too will fade away. Until all that’s left is a lake in a memory, that’s forever big and deep, and sprinkled with blue diamonds.  

Maybe I’ll return again someday. To see if the magic has come back. If not, as least the sticky buns will still be there.