|... The Little Canadian Stream in the cool forest shade...|
I was reading the article in the Salmon Arm Observer and I was thinking of my fondest memories of the ramp.
|... the season turns to Autumn ...|
How many times did I run down it yelling “cowabunga” and then diving right into the cold, fresh water?
|... a small glen in the woods ...|
How many times did I take a drink from the Little Canadian Stream beside the ramp?
Lately I have been drinking from up a little higher, but then I took a cool drink as it trickled over a board that had been placed on an old mossy log.
|... looking toward Sandy Beach ...|
And I can remember early in the summers, when I was shorter, walking out on tip-toes to see if I could reach the end of the ramp.
|... the evening shadows fall and all is right in the world ...|
One of my most vivid memories of Grandpa Doral is of him sweeping the gravel off of the ramp.
Sweeping off all of those grains of sand and pebbles that I had deposited there.