From off the shore, vibrant turquoise blue walls with baby blue trim ensured that their boathouse stood out like a beacon to all who passed by. Winter weather played havoc on the boathouse with its ravaging winds, bitter cold and the thick layers of winter fluff. Every spring when the thaw began to creep through, a caretaker would add a glimmer of new life to the tundra-like surroundings. A fresh splash of paint here, sparkling glass windows over there and the odd repair as well. He could fix anything that tortured the boathouse. Well almost anything.

By the time the late afternoon sun had turned into a glowing citrus sphere and was kissing the horizon, the Parkers’ mini-van had devoured two hundred kilometres of asphalt and was in the homestretch of its journey. Billy’s exhausted head bobbed in harmony with the rhythm of the road and the book he had been reading sat precariously between two dangling fingers. Two seconds later a sudden swerve and a pot hole was enough for the book to drop to the carpet of the van with a gentle thud. The sudden motion jerked Billy awake for the final kilometre ride to the cottage. He rubbed his tiny fists into his eyes to clear the fog and managed to eek out a muffled “where are we?”, as his dad steered toward an empty laneway.

An overwhelming aroma of pine wafted through the windows of the van as it made a final turn and onto the gravel driveway of their summer paradise. With a quick click, Billy was out of his seatbelt and his hand was on the sliding door handle as he pushed it on its guiding rail with a gentle whoosh. As he stepped out of the van it was suddenly all worth it. The daily treks to school in the frigid temperatures and bitter winds of the previous winter seemed an eon away from this second of satisfaction. He always loved this place, these smells, these sights and the adventures that awaited him. If eleven years old could be bottled to last forever, Billy would have bought a case of it.

Darkness had reared its ugly head by the time the last of the Parkers’ boxes had been unloaded and dumped onto the cottage’s entry hall. Returning here after almost eight months was always a moment to treasure not only for Billy, but his parents as well. The city was left behind. The stress was forgotten for the moment. The daily grind of hockey practices and school lunches and arguments about burnt toast and bounced cheques just didn’t seem to matter anymore. Eight-hundred square feet of cedar and brick was a fortress to the outside world’s ammunition of problems and meaningless tasks. Now it was time to unpack and envelop the magic.

Billy was famished. The fast food he had inhaled eighty kilometres ago just wasn’t filling the void anymore. His stomach had been gurgling and rumbling since they had parked the van. He was sure his parents had heard it, but so far his mom wasn’t making any movement toward the direction of the kitchen. It was time for a more direct approach.

“Hey mom, I’m starving,” he suddenly burst out as he unpacked the last of his clothes.

“I know you are. I’ve been hearing your stomach for the last ten minutes. We’re going to barbecue. Will you go out the boathouse and bring your dad the barbecue utensils?”

“Do I have to?” he asked with an attitude of total non-enthusiasm in his voice.

“If you want to eat you do,” his mom quickly responded.

He finally conceded he would go and five minutes later he was off to the boathouse. This was no big deal. He had been there hundreds of time before in the daytime when the sun lit his way. This was his first trip in the dark however. Now it was up to twenty-four ounces of plastic and four D cell batteries to do the job.

The path from the cottage was riddled with natural obstacles. One false step and you could find yourself licking the dirt in an instant. His flashlight beam danced among the foliage as he continued his journey. Suddenly the light bounced and caught the colours of the boathouse. A sigh of relief washed over Billy as he approached the door and dug into his pockets for the key his mom had given to him. It was a moonless night and a thin layer of cloud cover had hidden any visible stars.

Without a third hand it was impossible to hold the lock, the key and flashlight all at the same time. In an ingenious manoeuvre, he wedged the flashlight between his knees, pointed it up and went to work. The lock had seen better days and was drizzled with rust lines. Even still, the key slid in with an unexpected ease and turned effortlessly to the right as the latch broke free from the rest of the lock. With the key once again tucked away for safe keeping he opened the door. Its hinges squeaked with a thirst for lubrication as he pulled it towards him and he stepped inside. The boathouse was crammed to its roof with summer supplies including lifejackets, oars, an eight foot canoe and three inner tubes for tubing on the lake. No barbecue utensils were visible however from the entrance. In order to complete his mission, a deeper walk into the structure would be necessary.

The handle of a shovel bashed his shins as he stepped forward. Billy let out a yell and a word his parents probably didn’t know that he knew how to say yet. After recovering from the sting of the whack, he stepped over the handle and found himself in the middle of the rat’s nest. As he moved the flashlight around the room, he could finally see what a challenge this was going to be.

A chill suddenly went down his back and he had a sense that he wasn’t alone anymore. Creepy wasn’t close to what he was feeling at that instant. It was time for an immediate exit. The door suddenly slammed itself closed with a horrendous bang. He whipped his head around as the flashlight rotated like the beam of a lighthouse.

“Not funny dad,” he cried out.

His dad was forever playing tricks on him and so it was certain that he had to be the most obvious suspect. There was no response. From behind him he heard some articles   shift like something or someone was moving them out of the way. No time left. He pushed on the door, but it would not budge an inch.

“Let me out!” he yelled as he pounded on the door until the sides of his fists turned beet red.

Inches from his head, almost close enough to part his hair, an axe flew by and bit into a knot in the plywood door. The handle shuddered back and forth as tears began to stream down Billy’s cheeks. He was frozen in time and his cinderblock legs had no intention of moving in the immediate future.

“Hello Billy, I’ve been waiting for you” a child like voice announced from the back of the boathouse.

His muscles were now locked up and the stress of the moment had zapped every ounce of energy that he had.

“Turn around!” demanded the voice with a whiny, spoiled rotten to the core attitude.

Behind him there was crashing and smashing and all around destruction. Objects were flying around the room and zooming by his head like World War I fighter pilots in those double winged airplanes. A football hit him square in the back and an oar slapped the back of his left calf.

Billy was now leaning against the door and sobbing heavily, pleading for it to stop. For it to just go away.  He couldn’t understand why this was happening to him at this time. This was supposed to be a greatest and best summer ever. Now it was ruined by someone or something he didn’t even know. School was three hundred kilometres away, and he was still being terrorized. All of this was just another butt whipping on the way home from school or another lunch ruined by some jerk who tripped him in the lunch room. The more he thought about it the more depressed he became.

In an instant though, something remarkable began to happen. Self-pity had suddenly turned into years of pent up rage and frustration. The tear ducts were immediately put on simmer and he found a new source of energy.  He knew he couldn’t stand there and take it any longer. It was time to take back his life, his summer vacation and his self respect.

Adrenaline is an incredible weapon to the human spirit and Billy now had a tank full of it. A retaliatory strike was ordered in the form of the same football that had just clobbered him in the back. It was thrown harder than he had ever thrown one before in the direction of the voice. A clay flower pot was smashed upon reaching its destination. His flashlight had been lost in the assault so the boathouse was pitch black. This was seriously jeopardizing the accuracy of his aim. Next up was the boat oar. After taking ten courageous steps forward, he swung it around like a major league hitter. Unfortunately he also struck out as he continued to hit nothing but air. So he swung again; still nothing.

“Come on out and show yourself!” he suddenly cried out. “Who’s the chicken now?”

As suddenly as it had started, everything had stopped. All had settled down. No more taunting, no more flying missiles, but Billy kept swinging that oar anyway. After about fifteen swings he realized that whatever had just terrorized him was gone. A tremendous relief and utter sense of peace coursed through his body. Emanating from the direction of the door, a beam of light at floor level from his dropped flashlight was now shining through the barrage of junk and lighting an exit path for him. The barbecue utensils were also miraculously hanging on a hook directly in front of him. Mission accomplished. Without a sense of urgency, he tossed aside the boat oar, grabbed the utensils, picked up his flashlight and walked out of the boathouse. Ten steps into his walk he remembered he hadn’t locked it so he turned around and went back.

The unmistakeable fragrance of charcoal lingered in the air as Billy strolled to the end of the path. His parents were at the barbecue sharing a moment; a special moment that married couples do. He just stopped and watched for a minute in a kind of awe. It was rare what his parents had and he knew it. Half of his classmates lived in a divorced home so everyday he felt blessed and grateful for what he had. When his mom left to go back inside he emerged from behind an oak tree and onto the back lawn of the cottage.

“There he is!” his dad exclaimed as he slapped three hamburgers onto the grill. “Where we’re you all this time?”

“I went to get you the barbecue things,” he replied in a surprised attitude thinking his mom would have mentioned it.

His dad didn’t say anything right away, but his mind was suddenly deep in thought about where those barbecue things were. It hit him like a ton of bricks.

“You went in the boathouse? Just now, in the dark?” he asked.

“Yeah I did,” Billy replied not sure of where all this was going, but also with a sudden feeling of pride. For some reason that he couldn’t explain, he also didn’t feel the urge to tell his dad what had happened to him in there. Neither of them ever spoke of it again after that night.

His dad then did something that Billy will never forget. He flashed him a coy little smile and a wink of approval. Almost like he knew everything that had just happened and that his son had passed the test. Call it a rite of passage or tradition or call it whatever you’d like. The ritual of the first born male of the Parker family going into the boathouse and surviving the torturous initiation was legendary and had been handed down from generation to generation. Billy’s grandfather had done it, Billy’s dad had done it and now Billy had done it as well. Someday he will pass it on to his son when the time is right. The boathouse had stood for over sixty years and when the spring is re-born again next year and the year after that, a new coat of colours will adorn its historical walls and it will await its next inductee; whoever that may be.

Smells familiar, nothing new

Do you hear that, a rumble out there

Try and guess what it is, if you dare

A crack, a flash, a ribbon of light

Nature’s light show, an awesome sight

Did you feel that, it will soon be here

A drop, a drip, just like a tear

It’s windier now, the leaves start to rustle

The purple clouds are flexing their muscle

Like a dam the sky bursts open

It will be over soon, at least I’m hopin’

A few hours later, like I told you

The sun glistens again, the sky turns blue

Heed this warning, stay out of its way

It will be back again another day

How could a rain drop be so bold?

To perch itself upon my nose

Like a droplet on a dew drenched rose

Fall already I beg of you

I’m not the grass of morning dew

I could blow upward to loosen its grip

After all it’s just a drip

A drop of rain from clouds hanging low

Wait, I’ve got it. I know, I know

Eventually the clouds will break

And it will dry for goodness sake

I’ll win this water war attack

Until tomorrow when the rain comes back

Plastered against a bright blue sky

The leaves are falling and changing hue

The air is crisp and colder too  

Autumn is here it came so fast       

Summer is gone it didn’t last

Crackle and snap beneath my feet

The fallen branches of a maple I meet    

Laying on the ground and fast asleep

Not a word from them not even a peep

The maple looks sad as if he knows

He’ll soon be dressed in winter snow

My time is done here, I’ll trudge along

I pick up my step and whistle a song

No use getting down for no good reason

It’s a fact of life the change of season

Oh so cool, oh so mild

I sit on the dock and dangle my feet

Trying hard to beat the heat                                               

I drop my line, but not too deep

Want to catch a fish that I can keep

No luck yet, but I can wait

I’m using a worm for perfect bait

An hour or so has just passed

When I feel the tug of a big mouth bass

I pull and yank with all my might

For the first time today I have a bite

He’s fighting hard, he’s really strong

My pole is short, but my line is long

Just when I have him, he swims to live another day

That’s the little story of the one that got away

There was something that I was dying to say

You were standing by your locker, putting away your books

I walked right by, but you didn’t even look

I think of you all the time, but I guess I’m just too shy

To say what I want to say, the next time I walk by

You see I really like you and I’m hoping you like me

And I’d like to take you out somewhere, if sometime you’re free

You probably think I’m dumb for saying all this stuff

That I don’t really mean it and it’s just a lot of fluff

I know that when I see you, I feel like I’m in Heaven

I’ve never really felt like this, since I just only turned eleven

Oh no I see you coming, walking down the hall

I’m not ready to tell you yet, I guess I’ll have to stall

I swear I’ll tell you someday, how you stole my heart

And didn’t even know it, that’s the saddest part

Another visit to my e-mail site

Will I have messages from near or far

A letter from a friend or a chance to win a car

Clickety-click I touch the screen

For the fastest connection that I’ve ever seen

Just like that they want my password

It’s easy to remember because it’s so absurd

Here comes my inbox and what do I see

Some brand new messages just for me

I scan the list and what can I say

I have three personal letters to start my day

Reading each one I laugh and smile

Some are kind of long and take a while

I don’t mind because to my delight

It’s always worth the trip to my e-mail site

A story that can melt your heart

A fairy tale of love so true

A fair haired maiden with eyes of blue

Pirate ships with treasures of gold

Of men who fought and bared their soul

A hero who will save the day

Or children who just run and play

Whatever the tale or poem we write

Whether we read by day or read by night

The very first line is always the same

To this rule we should have no shame

In the end if we cry or smile from laughter

Everyone always lives happily ever after