When I picture lakes, I picture Haliburton lakes—placid, benign, with waves only lapping at the shores if there’s a motor boat. But I recently arrived home from a three-day camping trip on the shores of Lake Erie, and can still feel the lilt of the huge, relentless waves when I close my eyes. What a glorious lake. What a glorious beach – all sand (though my four-year-old was very upset that there wasn’t any beach glass)

I hadn’t been camping in years. Not since my late twenties when I was in a terrible relationship and had a very close encounter with a bear. My back/hip/shoulder are too creaky for thermarests, and for years, I told myself that my kids were too little. BUT then I learned about huge, cushy blow-up air mattresses, and my kids are potty-trained, and no longer napping and a friend had booked extra days at a campsite that she wasn’t going to use, AND the site was next to a beach and all of a sudden, there were no more excuses. 

And so, we borrowed tents and air mattresses and camping chairs, and made list after list after list, and drove up to Long Point Provincial Park with our bird identification books, and a pile of bathing suits.