My favorite place in the world is where I spent all my summers as a child: in ‘the country’ near the Bras D’or Lakes on Cape Breton Island. From the time I was about 5, my family owned a trailer in a small, nearly unknown campground where the people were few but close. It was there that I grew up, there that I learned of human relationships, of freedom, of the sweetness of privacy. Every year on ‘grading day,’ I raced home to pack and get in the car for the hour’s drive to paradise, not to return again, until the last possible moment, to the imprisonment of school, shoes, and snow.
Those summers shaped my life. It was an enchanted time, in an enchanted place. I feel as if my whole creative side was developed during those summer months. Seeing beauty day after day gave me the passion to try and create my own. We spent the days in the sun, barefoot and happy, making playhouses in the woods or sunbathing on the beach with a dozen other kids who were just as happy to be there as I. We filled the nights with laughter and singing at campfires — usually one communal fire, whose location often rotated from night to night. I gained an incomparable love for the outdoors which will never be ‘city-ed’ out of me. We young ones often escaped on our own to scare ourselves silly with ghost stories and Ouija boards. If it rained, no problem — we’d just move the fun inside! Card games were popular, as were board games. Many’s the rainy day we spent in groups in someone’s trailer or cabin playing Monopoly as if our lives depended upon it — arguing over properties, money, who would play with which piece. Sometimes, we would switch to A Game of Life, and learn of salaries, children, taxes — all lessons in what was soon to become reality.

The people at my campground were unique. I grew close to some, away from others. They taught me how to relate to people and how to be kind; how to make everyone feel special. Each year the adults held a “Kids’ Day” for us, with games, food and prizes. On that day, fun was the buzzword and everyone was invited, even people who weren’t ‘regulars.’ We played games that taught us teamwork and friendly competition, such as three-legged races, baseball and scavenger hunts. Although it was for the children, the adults would have a great time as well. They enjoyed creating a special day for their kids. That was a lesson in parenting to me, although I only realize it now, much later, when things at my paradise have changed and it seems nothing of this camaraderie lives there anymore.

Often, I would take days, sometimes nights, to be by myself on my beach (I still think of it as ‘my beach,’ although I haven’t seen it in more than a year). On these days, nothing existed except me and Gaea. Mother Earth, she who has blessed us with this wonderful country of ours, who awed me with her beauty, who gave me the great Atlantic Ocean, so vast and beautiful, yet so deadly... As I got older, it seemed to me that she went on forever, that I could go with her on a journey into myself and find things I thought I’d lost. Looking out at the blue-green depths, I could deal with my inferiorities; she gave me the strength to deal with my self. She helped me cope with the pain of young heartbreak, and gave me the joy of pure imagination. If I went far enough along the beach, all sign of civilization disappeared, and I could imagine I was alone on this earth, that I was one with the sky, the trees, the cliffs, the sea. Writing this gives me a pang; I wish I was there right now, I want to revel in the openness, the serenity. As a result of the pure luxury I was given as a child, almost nothing today is more dear to me than the sanctity of private freedom, with only my thoughts for company.

On other days, I would shun the children my age once again, to be with my parents and their friends. I learned much with them. I learned their secrets and their joys — a small child in the corner is not often noticed. I determined that although drinking is sometimes fun, too much could be devastating. I saw their friends — and mine — turn to drinking and even drugs to solve their problems, and then crash and burn. One of the most lovable men in the world smoked like a chimney and died young of lung cancer, leaving his small adopted daughter without her dad. To this very hour I have not tasted more than three sips of alcohol (after I was of age), have never smoked a cigarette, and scowl in horror and disapproval if someone mentions drugs. I also discovered on these nights that you cannot just ‘have’ a friend; you must be a friend in return. You must love and respect your friends to the fullest, or you will lose that part of you. Having a friend is one of the most fulfilling facets of life. It is a privilege I yearn for today, as the friends I made here, away from the carefree place I loved, have dwindled to nothing; only my seasonal ties have remained.

I didn’t always enjoy my time in this place, however. I felt the sting of gossip at times, and the pain of betrayal. Awful as this was, I feel that if I had not experienced these things, I would be a lesser person, for they taught me not to inflict them on others. I try at all times not to ‘make fun’ of a person, and hurt to the core if I suspect someone is ‘making fun’ of me. Never will I betray anyone as I have been betrayed, nor will I repeat rumors of which I know nothing. I’ve been beat up and shunned, both physically and emotionally, and partly because of this I am extremely gentle in nature. I always try to include everyone and accommodate their feelings. As a ‘bookworm’ and a ‘nerd,’ I eventually learned that reading was a good thing, that it was they who were losing out; yet even now I cringe at those words.

What have I gained from this experience? A love for good and beautiful things and a loathing for hypocrisy. A hope that my future children will perhaps experience some of the endless joy in this world. An urge to teach them what I learned from my hardships, that maybe they can avoid the heartbreak I faced; but of course they will merely come up against their own kind of heartbreak, won’t they? Still, now my family owns a piece of my paradise by the sea; perhaps I will be given the chance to practice the values I took from there, and bring up part of the next generation believing that alcohol is not to be taken lightly, friends are to be cherished, and the world to be enjoyed.