No matter where I am in the world or what time of year it is, I can close my eyes and be transported back through space and time to that one perfect day of childhood. Does everyone have the one perfect day they can escape to? Is it because my childhood was messed up that I retreat to the beauty and safety of this one special day? I don’t know the answers to those questions. But I do know that at any time, all I have to do is close my eyes and I can hear the waves lapping on the shore; I can smell the salty brine of the wharf; I can see the wild roses stretched out the length of the path to the beach; I can feel the heat from the sun on my skin, in my striped bathing suit bought at the Metropolitan on Main Street just for the occasion.
Over and over and over again I return to this day. And it never occurred to me to ask why. But as I sit in contemplation today, I am brought back to my perfect day in more vivid detail than ever before…in search of answers to this very question.
My mother had a very good friend whose family home sat atop a hill, overlooking a beautiful stretch of beach in idyllic Margaree, Nova Scotia. One summer, this friend invited us all to come visit for a weekend. I remember the immediate feeling of dread when Mom told us we were going there that weekend. I love the beach but was always afraid of my own shadow, so going somewhere new, with new people was always exceedingly difficult for me. And in my household in the 80s, one simply wasn’t allowed to be difficult. Anxiety built in me all week as preparations began. Mom marched my brother and me to the big discount store on Main Street where we used to eat lunch every Tuesday when we attended Mr. Rogers piano lessons across the road. Very quickly, bathing suits were selected and purchased and I was pleasantly surprised! For what felt like the first time, I was in love with the orange and blue and red and black striped one piece that was purchased; it was something I would have actually picked for myself.
But that beloved bathing suit was not enough to quell the anxiety rising in me. Fudge was made; the cooler was packed; the car was loaded. And off we went to Cape Breton. Everyone else seemed so excited and happy to get away. My 7 year old brain worried about where I would sleep; who would be there; what would they be like; would they be nice to me; where would we use the bathroom and a bazillion other questions that roamed through my mind as we blazed towards the causeway and then inland through to the Margarees.
When we pulled up to the house, I could hardly breathe. I had worn my favourite white shirt with the criss crosses all down the arms. I loved how when I got a little sun in that shirt, it left criss cross marks all down my arms. I was happy I had my favourite shirt on, as people started pouring out of the little old farmhouse on the bluff. My stomach lurched as a little blond head came bursting out the door, pushing past the adults, to look at the newcomers. Becky.
This was my worst nightmare come true. It was bad enough to be in a new environment with new people in new scenarios…but to have just one other girl my age? That meant I was going to be expected to be friends with her. I just knew it. And where I felt homely and awkward, she was dazzling with her hair almost white from the sun and her boundless energy. I knew immediately I was going to hate her.
We piled into the farmhouse with its large kitchen with the old fashioned stove as the centrepiece, just like at my Grandma and Grandpa’s house and the adults helped drag out stuff in and showed us to our rooms. Mom’s friend was there. She didn’t have kids. But her twin sister, who looked nothing like her, was also there with her family, including her daughter Becky. They had prepared a feast in a stereotypical Cape Breton hospitality fashion. Very quickly the adults were telling old stories while sipping after dinner drinks.
Have I mentioned I’m not good with new people? I sat in the corner of that kitchen, in a little rocking chair, not saying one word to anyone, fully engrossed in the Archie comic books I’d brought from home.
Finally, what felt like centuries later, Mom asked if I wanted to go to bed. Yes, please!! So off I went, completely embarrassed by the fact that I’d forgotten pyjamas so had to sleep in my favourite white, criss crossy shirt. What must Becky be thinking…of course, she would never forget her pyjamas.
Early the next morning, I was awakened by the smell of bacon and the exaggerated coughing of one little almost white headed girl trying to encourage me to wake up. Oh no. What do I do? I’m in a panic, feeling trapped as I’m going to have to interact with this person. When she saw my eyes open, she giggled with delight and said “FINALLY!!!! Let’s get breakfast and go to the beach”. I didn’t have much of a choice in the situation, so I got up and went to the kitchen where her aunt, my Mom’s friend, was whipping up an old fashioned breakfast of bacon, eggs, pancakes, toast, everything you could imagine! She took one look at the two of us and stopped what she was doing abruptly, clutched her hand to her mouth and I saw tears well up in her eyes. She said, “I just knew you were going to be friends”. I was shook…I had spent 20 seconds with her, where she convinced me to get up to eat and I knew in my heart she was going to hate me since she was so perfect!! Friends? Nah. In hindsight, I get it…her old friend’s child and her niece, becoming friends would have been a big deal; and likely part of the reason they gathered us together in the first place.
We bellied up to the table and stuffed ourselves. I remember eating bacon until I couldn’t physically fit any more into me. And strawberry jam on fresh that morning biscuits. I say jam before the biscuits cause I’m sure I ate half a bottle of the homemade jam while consuming that biscuit! And I can almost taste it now as I type!
Everyone else was still in bed. Just we three up to see the world on this bright, sunny Cape Breton morning.
I wasn’t much more talkative at breakfast than I had been the night before (just as my Ardness cousins if they ever had a conversation with me before my 14th birthday hahah) but that didn’t bother Becky. She talked enough for the both of us. As soon as we finished, we were shooed out of the kitchen to get ready for the day and into our bathing suits. Her aunt smeared us with sunscreen and out the door we went.
This girl had never known such freedom! Early morning, full belly, hot summer day, off on an adventure with this straight-out-of-the-tv little girl named Becky! Becky yelled “come on!!” as she ran down the dirt path lined with hundreds and hundreds of wild roses in full bloom. It was one of those mornings that was so hot and humid already that you could SEE the heat welling up before your eyes. We ran down the path, laughing and devouring the scent of the roses. I felt the weight I didn’t know existed lift off my shoulders and all of a sudden I was in vacation mode – a mode I didn’t know was a real thing til that very moment! We’d been on plenty of vacations but it never felt like this.
There wasn’t another soul on the beach but there was activity at the wharf further down. We could see the boats around and people mulling about. When the dirt turned to sand at the bottom of the path, it was already too hot to stand on. We threw our towels down, danced across the hot sand and plunged into the cool water, ducking immediately.
In the water, we swam and did handstands and spit water spouts and floated and rode the waves. Two seven year olds in their version of heaven. I didn’t hate Becky. In fact I was positively enamoured of her! She was beautiful and loud and funny and full of energy. She would tell a funny story then tell me I had to tell her one too. I didn’t have any funny stories but she would insist I must and force me to dig deep until I came up with them too! From unknowns to bffs in the space of an hour. As only seven year olds can do!
Becky and I weren’t from the same town. We didn’t know the same people. We weren’t in the same activities. So we didn’t talk about any of that. We talked about the things we loved…and as a child who didn’t really have too many opinions of my own yet, she did her best to draw it out of me. “What’s your favourite flower,” she asked. “I dunno!!”. “You MUST know! It’s YOUR favourite afterall!!”. But I didn’t know and she could see that that was the truth. So she asked, “Did you like all those roses we ran by?”. Of course I had and told her so. “So maybe just for today, wild roses are your favourite”. It was so simple and so easy to pick a favourite. She didn’t have to worry about the thousand wrong answers; she just picked one and that was right, no matter what it was. How utterly refreshing!!! So wild roses became my favourite flower. And they remain so to this very day.
After what seemed like hours, we saw the rest of our weekend household making their way to down the path to the beach. They brought with them chairs and the trusty cooler – stocked with drinks and snacks. Swimming and splashing and making a new best friend works up an appetite!! We ate cheese and crackers and little appetizers on a toothpick that had a little slice of ham, a piece of pineapple and a maraschino cherry. My goodness did we think we were posh!
Salty and sandy and sticky, we spent the rest of the morning running back and forth between the ocean and the adults on shore, making plans to explore a little more on our own when we got the chance! At lunchtime, my Dad dragged the cooler up the dirt path to the house and there the adults refilled it with sandwiches and chopped vegetables and a big ole watermelon! Then he dragged it back down the dirt path to the beach where once again, sandy and salty and sticky, we feasted on the best tasting food under the summer sun. After lunch, Mom sliced open the watermelon and the sticky, sweet juice was all over my face, my hands…but it was more than worth it cause then we had watermelon seed spitting contests!! I managed to spit mine the farthest, surprising myself!
The women went back up to the farm house after lunch, leaving Dad to watch us…which afforded us a little more freedom again! Becky and I raced each other and up and down the beach, searched for the best seashells, found a sand dollar and started collecting beach glass. We sang songs at the top of our lungs, surprised that we knew some of the same ones – mostly the Brownie ones cause we were both Brownies. Not one stone was unexplored on the beach. Not a care in the world. No time limits. No stress. No need to be running off anywhere.
At suppertime, I was sad cause I thought it meant we would have to leave the beach after such a positively wonderful day, the likes of which I’d never known in my young life. But no, Dad left us alone once again on the beach to go up to the house to help with dinner…and everyone came back down that dirt path, with arms loaded! The little hibachi barbeque was lit and we had what could have passed for a banquet right there on the sand! I even still remember the taste of the macaroni salad. After a day on the water, food just tastes that much better!!
The adults were all still laughing and telling stories and I remember laying there on the sand…in my wet bathing suit, salty, sandy, sticky, but deliriously happy and wondering to myself, how is it possible to have such a great day?! I never wanted it to end.
But every day must come to an end. The adults eventually started gathering everything up from the beach and we begrudgingly helped carry everything back to the house and with clean up. I couldn’t help but be disappointed that the day was over even though it had been such a darn wonderful day!!
Then Becky’s aunt slipped us some money and told us to go get an ice cream! Say what now? There is more to this day afterall??? Becky’s eyes lit up like the Canada Day fireworks, grabbed me by the arm and half dragged me out the front door! Down the dirt path to the beach we danced…stopping to smell my new favourite flowers along the way. We were still in our bathing suits. Still salty and sandy and sticky. And loving every minute of it! We had to walk the length of the beach and then up onto the wharf to find the ice cream stand. I got a double scoop of strawberry, while Becky got a scoop of orange pineapple and a scoop of bubblegum. It’s crazy the details you remember from all that long ago! I thought we would hurry back, but Becky, still without a care in the world, plunked down on the edge of the wharf, feet dangling over the side, to savour every lick of her icecream! I plunked down beside her and did the same.
From our vantage point, we could see the whole length of the beach where we’d spent our day, the dirt path lined with wild roses all the way up to the farmhouse at the top of the hill and looking out to the water, we could see for miles the waves rising and falling in perfect unity.
Even now as I reflect back on that day, I remember feeling such peace; such contentment; such gratitude for this day. And I hoped it was a day I wouldn’t ever forget.
After some people watching on the wharf and some foolish story telling of our own, between fits of giggles, we finally decided we’d better start making our way back. But like the rest of the day, no one came looking for us, trusting us and trusting the environment we were in to be safe to afford us such rare freedom!
The others had already started a bonfire back at the house and I snuggled up to my Mom, happy to see her so happy and happy that I was so happy myself! We sang a few songs and toasted a few marshmallows and pretty soon I was falling asleep in my lawnchair after such a fabulous outside day! Salty, sandy, sticky and now stinky from the bonfire…it didn’t matter, not today on the perfect day. Mom took me inside and helped me put on my favourite white criss crossy shirt that had become my make shift pyjamas; I don’t even think I brushed my teeth (!) and up into that cozy big bed I climbed. I remember asking Mom, “can we come back here again sometime?” and she said “Ohhhh of course we will!”. “Good,” I replied and then crashed into sleep.
We never did get back there. And I never saw Becky again after saying our painful, tear-filled seven year old goodbyes the next day. Everyone promised we would do it every summer. But the stars didn’t align. I still go back there in my mind…to that one perfect day. I smell the smells. I taste the tastes. I hear the sounds. I feel the feelings. Salt, sand, sticky, roses, birds, campfire, barbeque, freedom….joy.
I hope you all have that one perfect day you can go back to time and time again too…
Dandelion Wishes 