We had a light dinner and then gathered some things to take to the beach.
Dad knew where it was. I pictured it as improbably right in the middle of town, or just beyond it. Some part of me must have known of course it wouldn't really be there, otherwise we'd be walking, but my continuing lack of informing myself of where we were headed was going strong and my mind was a little fuddled by confidence and sunshine.
We drove through Lyndhurst. It took five seconds. I became anxious the moment we passed Wing's Bait and Tackle shop/the main dock/the bridge, aka, the centre of town, as the reality of the beach not being six seconds away became clear. Dad mumbled the directions given us by the cottage proprietress: "turn right at the Canadian Tire", etc.
The Canadian Tire was just outside of town. Once in view of it, I breathed a sigh of relief, as here was a side road and the beach must be close by (based on a indistinct mental impression from Google Maps from two weeks ago when I was planning this trip which somehow had not in any way conflicted in my mind with my alternative image of the beach being directly beside Wing's Bait and Tackle).
But no. The beach was, in fact, not close by.
The road itself was beautiful, winding through deep farm country with gorgeous green blossomings of trees and shrubs and ditch grass, all warmth and sleepy summer abundance, and then neat fields, and resting cows, and all of it leading ... to more of it ... and my own mounting anxiety, like a tiny storm cloud on the perfectly blue horizon.
Ah ... my WTF moment was coming! Hello, my friend! I was tired, hot, sleepy, had been in three different towns in two days. Felt overall decent, but still ... might there be a limit? Might I have reached my max? I was frankly amazed at myself for coming as far as I had. So stories of "this is too much, you will hurt yourself" that hearken back to the early traumas that caused my condition fluttered in my head. I responded to them mentally in my professional voice: This is you now, you could be here or there or anywhere. It's peaceful here. And if you need to, you can leave. But you're good. Let peace and beauty be your support, be your rest. Let yourself be this person who does these things.
Dad suddenly mentioned the distance - even he was wondering where this beach was. This immediately made me anxious again, more so, in a way best visualized as a cat resisting entry into a cat carrier.
I articulated an amount of that anxiety to him and speculated that I might want to turn around if the beach didn't appear soon, in a falsely casual manner.
I didn't want to turn around, not really. It has felt so good to feel so free, so present to what was before me, to be so fearless. I reminded myself that I could feel this uncertainty, and then later feel better. Just getting into the water might make me feel better. Just relaxing into the peaceful beauty of the surroundings might do it.
And then suddenly, there it was, the beach, up ahead.
As we turned in to the grounds, I could not imagine of what possible benefit it would be to me to be there. I felt I'd be better off resting, at home, with my computer. I was afraid to say anything to Dad because I didn't want the stress of having to convince him that I needed to go, didn't want to get into that mindset, so I just kept my focus, pretending I was just waiting for the train, or just another hour on the train, stay strong, and it will pass. Hoping we'd not have to stay long.
The beach was beautiful. So beautiful. I removed my dress and was already in my suit, whereas Dad had to go change. In my current mindset, Dad might as well have been practicing a new social theory in action called the Slow Change Movement, as he meandered up the hill to the washrooms. I wanted to physically push him faster into his bathing suit, but instead I went down to the sunny water to wade.
A disparate looking group of what I later discovered to be Scottish tourists were the only other people on the beach. As far as I could tell, there was the ruddy-faced, blond-curled patriarch; what looked like two sets of couples, one sallow looking with an age difference so great I literally couldn't decide if they were lovers or mother and gown child, the other scrubbed and churchy looking; an actual child (the centre of everyone's attention); and a gloriously and almost absurdly fit 20 something man in a speedo. As they sported in the shallows I collected shells on the beach. I considered them peace and bravery shells and I gave them to my wonderful supportive friends when I got back home to Kitchener. I placed the shells on the beach in a little encouragement pile, waded out into the water, and then back in again as Dad arrived back on the beach.
"Your swimsuit looks like my mother's" he said. "We only saw Mom go in the water once a year. Usually it was August. 'MOM'S GOIN' IN!!!' we'd all yell."
Dad and I waded out, picking up zebra mussels and talking about invasive species. The sun was slanting across the greenish-yellow rippling waters, the sky was so blue overhead, with a view to a tiny island with a cottage on it, and the treed shoreline all around. This lake was colder than the one we are staying on, because it is part of the Rideau system. The air was so warm and windy. I recalled that it was the first day of summer.
Dad went fully into the water but I didn't because I was afraid it would make me cold and that that would provoke anxiety.
When he came out, he said, "The cold water and the warm air are creating absolute balance in my body temperature!"
I felt a the balance between the fear and the magic, the darkness of the past and the sunshine of the present, and beyond it all, the biggest love for my father.
We came across two dragonflies floating on the water. I urged Dad and we picked them up to rescue them from drowning. We held them up in the yellow light and let the wind dry out their wings. My dragonfly's little limbs started moving. I kept him in the palm of my hand as I waded in the sun. Dad felt his dragonfly was too far gone, and gave him a burial at sea. Mine was gaining more and more, some wing motion was happening, so I took him in to shore and put him in a protected area near some rocks. I checked before we left and he had gone.
Back in the water Dad and I roamed around the water checking out more zebra mussels. Dad started singing Barnacle Bill, a song he's still yet to sing in full to me, but that I am given to understand is quite dirty and misogynistic. He then explained that that was how he learned, as a boy, about sexuality, a fact that he seemed complacently disturbed by. He then went on to tell me about another sexual learning experience he'd had, as a teenager, in the See-Way Drive-In on Ogdensburg, NY. Apparently this drive-in showed pornography (oh, the 70s). It was the first one he'd ever seen and he was grossed out and confused at the close-ups. As we continued to wade through the water, I told Dad that a male friend had shown me a similar thing on VHS when I was that age, and I'd had the same reaction.
"But this was on the drive-in screen," reiterated Dad, "That is REALLY large." Yep.
Coming round back into the shallows, we struck up a conversation with the Scots. Dad got into a lengthy political conversation about Brexit with the patriarch, who said Aye alot and had some strong opinions about politics in the UK. I made a tiny amount of small talk, including gently yelling "FIRST DAY OF SUMMER!!" in the direction of the rest of the family, who were now sitting on the shore looking tired. The churchy man gave a mildly enthusiastic hurrah, but the rest ignored me; they were on their way out. They urged the patriarch along but he and Dad were right in it. Not even a group of Canada Geese and their adorable babies coming onto the beach could distract Dad and the patriarch for more than a few moments (although long enough for me to learn that Canada Geese winter in Scotland and that there they are called Barnacle Geese - bringing it all full circle to Barnacle Bill.). Finally the family left the beach and a few minutes later their car horn sounded from the parking lot and Dad and the patriarch reluctantly parted ways.
After that Dad and I took some pictures, but we were ready to go also. Before leaving, I finally made myself get fully into the water, ready to face the anxiety of cold, since we were leaving soon. But Dad was right. Once I came out, the warm windy air on my cool skin brought me into perfect balance with my world.
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