Memories are imperfect and can fade over time — this has been a repeating theme in many novels I have written over the years. I see this in my own life, in that as I get older many details about my childhood have started to fade away or become less clear to me. But the memories I have created in Prince Edward Island feel entrenched in my mind.
When I was a child, Greenwich wasn’t part of a national park yet. It was a quiet, little-known spot where you’d drive up, park your car and walk about a kilometre over rolling sand to get to the beach. During the day we’d swim in the water, and at night we’d make bonfires. It was an expansive, white sand beach stretching for kilometres and there would never be anybody on it because nobody knew about it.
As I walk along the northwestern shore, I am surrounded by bright green grasses that blow in the wind. There’s a particular smell to those grasses that transports me back to being that 10-year-old kid again.
When I visit Greenwich with my three children, I see them doing the same things I did when I was young. It feels like history repeating itself. During a recent trip, my family went snorkelling and were surrounded by tiny crabs, lobsters and jellyfish. It felt like my kids were getting to experience those same joyful moments on that beach.
When I watch my children run down to the water just as I did all those years ago, I get emotional because of how transporting this place is and how clear those memories are.