Memory Lane

 

I've mentioned before that I love to go to White Rock--and make a point of visiting there at least once every summer.

 

Since this is where I grew up until I was 12, it holds a lot of memories for me.  Every time we drive down 16th Avenue, across the city and over to the campgrounds where we used to live when my parents were caretakers there, I can't help pointing out all the places I used to go.  The hospital where my sisters were born, the 7-11 where I had my first Slurpee, the elementary school where I started kindergarten--I'm sure that by this point in their lives, my kids could draw and label a map showing all of them!

 

A couple of years ago, though, when we drove by the camp and I went to point out our old house, it was gone.  Not just torn down for something else to be built, or even to leave a vacant lot--it was torn down without a trace.  There were old, tall trees filling the space where I knew the house should have been, and there was no evidence that a house had ever been anywhere in the area.

 

I felt as though I was losing my mind--even though I knew the house couldn't have just disappeared.  I took pictures of the spot and went over to my parents' house to show them, hoping that they would go back there with me and help to solve this mystery.

 

Finally, this week my Dad went with us!

 

Since the camp had recently been converted into a public park, we were able to walk through the grounds.  The row of 16 cabins was gone, but there was still a pathway leading along where they used to be.

 

 

The back fence had been taken out, but a new look-out point had been built--connecting the park to the streets behind where the camp had ended.

 

 

We walked back along the fence, searching for the old lookout point,

 

which led to the first (and hopefully only) instance of me climbing over a fence and ripping my pants :)  I can say now, though, that the old lookout trail is still there . . .

 

 

but the platform is gone. 

 

 

(Of course my bad example led to all the kids wanting to jump over the fence, too, to see the old lookout!) 

 

 

We saw all the old views from the field

 

 

and the dining hall,

 

 

then walked the trail back to where our house should have been.

 

And finally we found the empty spot--closer to the road than I'd thought, where there's now a patch of overgrown grass and blackberry bushes.  I couldn't see this from the street when I'd driven by (or even stopped) before.

 

We walked down to the bottom of the street--a much shorter distance than I'd remembered, then we walked the path back up from the house to the dining hall,

 

and then the parking lot, where we saw the field where the pool used to be.

 

And yes, we did make it to the beach eventually.

 

There is something about walking down the paths and streets where I spent so much time as a little girl.  It makes me feel younger and happier--and also makes me hope that my children can someday feel that way about the places they grew up (although not as picturesque), including their summer days in White Rock, too.