What I remember most is white sand as soft as flour. Along with large sand dunes – big enough to slide down and hide in. The shore line was shallow and we could walk out forever, and never have water over our heads. There was always bright blue sky and Manitoba sunshine. Grand Beach was my family’s destination for our yearly summer holiday.
I don’t remember a time when we didn’t go to Grand Beach – it was just what we did. It was an hour and a half drive from Winnipeg, but we always stopped for a break, a snack of sandwiches for us, tea for Mom. I’m not sure if it was because our 1951 Hillman needed a stop to keep going, or Dad needed a stop to keep going.
The cottage was called Miss B Haven – all of the cottages in the Grand Beach townsite had names that captured the essence of summer relaxation and fun. The one we rented was no different. It had two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a sitting room. A wooden structure painted bluey-green and yellow. Plenty of room for the four of us. The walls had brown panelling and did not go up to the ceiling. We had to walk up the road with big pails to get our water from a pump. We had to walk up the road to the community toilets. We bathed in a silver metal tub in the back yard. Sand everywhere.
July was fish fly season. They are big flying bugs with wings like a dragon fly. At night when our company left we had to turn off all of the lights in and around the cottage for half an hour, so the fish flies wouldn’t be congregating around the lights and invade the cottage. Nighttime visits to the toilet meant crunching on fish flies.
We spent hours splashing in the water, while our parents sat on their towels on the beach. Our floaties were plastic ones that you blew up – mine was a pink dinosaur. The Carousel on the beach was the highlight. Uncle Eddie visited – and treated me to a ride. Sitting on the horse, shivering in my thinly woven beach towel, one hand on the horse, one hand gripping my candy floss. The sounds of the Wurlitzer organ playing waltz after waltz. I thanked Uncle Eddie for getting me an up-and-down horse.
Fast forward 35 years, I was searching for a cottage to rent for my family. I found the beach at Fort William, Québec. White sand, not like flour, but close enough. Gradual shoreline perfect for a 2 and 5 year old to splash and play. The attraction to the beach felt visceral. The cottage was an old log house – with running water, flush toilet, and 4 bedrooms – a palace. A July family tradition, of 25 years, was born.
Louise Hanvey