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| ... 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.
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| ... the season turns to Autumn ... |
How many times did I run down it yelling “cowabunga” and then diving right into the cold, fresh water?
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| ... 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.
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| ... 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.
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| ... 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.
Sweeping off all of those grains of sand and pebbles that I had deposited there.
Mary
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