Went to my favorite beach today. Lay down and rested, deeply. Realized I always feel profoundly good at the lakeshore; happy childhood feelings suffuse me.
Spent summers of my early childhood staying in a trailer my father built, at a place called Guenther's Grove, in Port Colborne, Ontario. There was a compound, where many people stayed all summer long in their mobile homes, with an enormous willow tree in the center. There were outhouses; I remember old Guenther and his sons digging them out. Across the road, there was a formidable hill of sand, over which we had to climb to reach the beach. A challenge for tiny legs. There were stairs on one side of the hill, but my brother and father often would race each other up the steep slope. The best fun was running crazy down the other side of the hill.