memoirs of an extinct childhood - sandbar afternoons

Saturday was Sabbath in my family and many Sabbath afternoons were spent on the sandbar by the Mitten bridge. We'd come home from church, grab lunch, change clothes and head over to the bridge - which was only a 5 minute drive from our farm. There was a bit of a pullout along the gravel road that we'd park in - there would often end up being as many as three vehicles - and a trail leading down a steep bank, through a bit of brush and down another sandy bank to the sandbar. Throughout the brush were cranberry bushes and, if it was the right time of year, you could grab a handful of sour, red cranberries on your way down. We'd trek down the trail with our picnic lunch, blankets, swim clothes, lifejackets and whatever else we needed for the afternoon.

My cousins, the other Webbs, were usually there, along with the Andrews, or maybe the Densmores. Lunch would be eaten on the sand, with a fire going, maybe a blanket or something to sit on. If someone wasn't able to change at home, they would use a vehicle or the cover of a bush. It was a very simple, rustic and delightful way to spend an afternoon.

Lunch would be something made up the day before, or something easily thrown together. Potato or taco salad, haystacks, vegetarian roast, gluten burgers, sandwiches or vegetarian hotdogs roasted over a fire built on the beach, with cobbler, crisp or something yummy for desert. It would be eaten right there on the sand, with a blanket or rocks to sit on.

The bridge spanned the Kispiox River, and this particular sandbar was right where a small section of the river rejoined the main stream, after a slight detour around to create a bit of an island. It was a small creek, shallow enough to easily wade across, unless it was in spring flood. Further up the creek there was a bit of a pool that was deeper, and the bravest would attempt to swim there. The water was achingly cold, though, and no one could stand it for very long. So we would wade, maybe float down the creek a little bit, look for salmon or minnows and other interesting water creatures, or unusual looking rocks. There was also plenty of sand to build castles, rivers or whatever our imagination created!

We would often cross the creek, over to the "island", to walk along the rock strewn shore, looking for cool rocks, or a new place to play. We might all, adults included, attempt the crossing for a stroll on the other side.

Many hours were spent at this spot, enjoying a sunny summer afternoon. The food always tasted better when eaten outside - and our appetites were invariably voracious, since we'd have to wait longer for lunch. I can still picture it in my mind. I see the sandbar, the trail leading up through the bush to the road, the sand sloping down toward the creek and the river rapids further under the bridge. I see the pool in the creek, with dead logs, huge rocks, a gentle current carrying the water back to its river source. I can feel the cold of the water, feel the ache in my feet from wading in it for so long. I feel the sand under my toes - how long has it now been since I walked barefoot in sand? I can almost hear my mom and aunt in conversation, sitting on a blanket on the sand, and I can picture my dad and uncle standing looking at the rapids, perhaps talking about canoeing them. I see a baby or toddler, someone's younger sybling, playing on the beach, covered in sand from head to toe.

After an afternoon in the sun, sand and water, we would often make our way back to someone's house - ours, or my aunt and uncle's when they lived out there - for supper. Usually fruit salad and popcorn. I'm sure my mom could tell you better about the sand and mess carried into the house, and about how grimy we all were from playing in the sand and water. I remember being tired, exhausted, ready to go home - but always ready to come back again another time!