Wasaga Beach

 As a child, I dreamed about summer vacation. It was a time when the whole family jumped into a fully packed station wagon and headed for a week-long adventure. One of my favorites was a place called Wasaga Beach in Canada. It was a mile-long beach where you could wade out a hundred yards or more and have water to your knees. It was a parent's paradise because we couldn't pass the red markers into deeper water. I remember my dad would carry me on his shoulders, venturing past the markers into the depths of the lake I feared to go. Once the water reached his shoulders, he launched me into the air, leaving me on my own to swim back to the markers and the safety of the sandy bottom. His way of teaching me to swim.

Wasaga Beach had an old boardwalk built long before I was born, and I remember it always looking like it needed a paint job. There was an arcade filled with games of chance and pinball machines that all took quarters to play. I had to be careful because Dad gave each of us a twenty-dollar bill that had to last the week. I was usually broke on the second day.

There was a horse barn where you could take a trail ride. The guy giving the tour told everyone to duck their heads when reaching the barn, as the horses knew there was food and water waiting for them, and they took off running to get there. Now, I can't explain why I didn't duck my head. I thought I was small enough in the saddle to avoid the barn doors. I was wrong. I spent the rest of that day in the motel with ice bags on my head and no desire to take any more trail rides.

As years passed and I welcomed my teenage years, trips to the beach became more of a place to meet girls and show off my diving skills. There were bonfires where kids would gather around to get to know one another, and if I were lucky, I'd meet someone with whom I'd spend almost all my time stealing kisses under the boardwalk by the moon's light. But like all good things, the day would come when our week was over, and saying goodbye with a promise to write and hopefully see each other next year. That rarely happened.

My memories of Wasaga Beach have always stayed with me. I have a postcard hanging on a wall with a picture of the boardwalk and the arcade welcoming you to the best beach on the lake. I have to agree.

Mike 2025