Every summer, as soon as school was out, my sister and I were packed into my pop’s dory where we headed for the shore. It was on this shore where I would spend my entire summer. It was roughing it at its best. We stayed in a two room cabin. At night, light was provided via a kerosene lantern and our toilet was in the form of an outhouse. It wasn’t anything glamorous but the setting itself was beautiful. Sandy beaches that stretched for miles with clean lakes and rivers. My sister and I scoured the beach for seashells, pebbles, starfish, crabs and whatever other treasures would happen upon us. Our days were spent building sand castles, swimming, fishing and just running free. In the evenings, we would help Pop collect driftwood and have a bonfire where we would roast wieners and marshmallows. At night, we would fall into bed.

I would wake in the morning to the sound of the waves crashing onto the beach and the crackle and pop of an early fire in the woodstove and the crick crack of Pop’s rocking chair as he slowly rocked back and forth. I can still remember Pop sitting in his chair at the table looking through the window at the early morning fog with his tea cooling in his saucer. And if I close my eyes, I can still smell the toast that was made over the wood stove with Nan’s homemade bread.

In the morning, if the water was calm, Pop would take us out in his boat to jig for cod. My sister always got seasick. After getting a cod or two for lunch, we would head back into shore. We would watch Pop clean and fillet the fish and Nan would fry it up in the cast iron fry pan and we would devour it. I don’t know if it was the fresh air, the salt water but, whatever it was, everything she cooked tasted delicious coming off that ol’ wood stove. It would be so hot in the cabin with that fire going, that all three windows and one door would be open from dawn to dusk.

In the afternoons, if the black flies weren’t too thick, we would take off berry picking. To this day, I still do not enjoy berry picking, walking over the bog to pick backepples. But, it was something that we did so our nan could make jams and pies. It is something that I do today with my own children.

Our days were carefree. My grandparents didn’t have to worry about us and we were good kids. We helped with the chores, doing the dishes, sweeping the floors and such. The only time spent inside was when we came in to eat or if it was raining. Then we spent our time playing board games and drawing and having lazy afternoon naps by the woodstove. Pop would sit next to the stove in his rocking chair quietly rocking and every now and then he would say or do something to make us laugh. I can remember standing at the table with Nan and making lemon pie. She always let me make my very own pie on a tea plate. For some reason, that one always tasted the best.

As a child, I sometimes resented the shore as my other friends were off to places like P.E.I., Maine and Florida for summer vacation. They were off seeing the country in a recreational vehicle, swimming in pools, dining at fancy restaurants, etc. But, looking back, I wouldn’t have traded those summers on the shores of Newfoundland with Nan and Pop for anything. My nan and pop have been passed for several years now, but, I always return to that spot on the shore when I visit Newfoundland and if I close my eyes, I can still see the land as it was with their cabin, the dory hauled up on the dock and my sister and I playing away on the beach.   Submitted By: Marsha Sefcik