It’s the August long weekend in our neck of the woods, but having just driven home to Toronto from Nova Scotia, we didn’t really want to tackle a long drive again this weekend.  And there’s stuff to be done around the house.  So we’d basically decided to have a “get it done” weekend of odd jobs and sleeping in our own beds.  Then our Toronto neighbours invited us to visit them at Wasaga Beach, where they run a hotel, and because we could do it in just a day, and come home to our very own beds, we said an enthusiastic “Yes!”

And what a glorious day it was.  It only took an hour and a half to get from the big smoke to the whitecaps of Wasaga Beach.  This shore of Georgian Bay is the longest strip of freshwater beach in the world, and because the forecast for this weekend had been for rain, it was very quiet.  And windy.  The water is only knee-deep for about 200 meters out, but with the wind some lovely big waves came rolling in.  The littlest boy kept himself very merrily occupied on shore hopping over incoming waves, getting steadily more brave, and letting himself fall into the surf, and letting the water roll over him.  The older kids ventured farther away from shore, and wave hopped with more abandon and freedom, their lithe little boy bodies whipped up with the white water.

It was such a joy to watch my boys play with the waves.  It brought back vivid memories of my childhood in Haiti, where, one Sunday a month, we would go out to sea on a little boat called the Bluebird and swim all day in the middle of the great blue sea.  Watching the boys today I remembered, not so much the days of swimming in the powerful swell of the sea, as the nights of laying in my bed and still feeling the waves rocking me.  I watched the boys battle wave after wave after wave and thought of them laying down to sleep in their own beds tonight and feeling rocked by that unanticipated souvenir for the senses.

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