Paul George Waurzyniak Jul. 31, 1957
I remember a time when Dad was still a Fire Fighter. Sure we would visit Dad at the Fire station that was close to our home on Beaconsfield. All of us investigating up in the open dorm room, when and if the gang of Fighters might get some rest. Sliding down the brass pole, reaching to grab hold over the open circle. There would be Dad or one of the other men to keep us safe from falling. Then when your courage would let you lean over the abyss and slide there would be the secure feeling on touch down on the soft mat on the ground floor. I remember the sight and smell of the clean machines. Fire engines and rescue units that peoples lives depended on, always at the ready no matter what the time or weather. The meals in the kitchen that everyone had their turn to make. Three alarm chili, a good meal sometimes eaten, other times the bells go off, come Hell or high water, you go and do your job. One fuzzy remembrance I have was a church services held in the basement, a big room to a young child. Fire Fighters and Families gathered for God. Then we all went out side and stood along the street. Cold, wet and low clouds. All the Fighters in Dress Blues and there loved ones beside them. Serious and somber. What is this drizzle? I thought it to be the tears of angels for a Fallen Fighter. Men in Blue, men who put their lives on the line. No matter what, selfless service. What ever went by, myself to small to see, yet knowing this is important. Cold and wet, Uniforms and courage that even a young boy could feel.		Now we go back inside for a group breakfast. A line forms, food for body and soul. This seems to me to be more than just food. I recall going through the line for breakfast. I walk along with everybody. Plate in hand, a child looking down the steamer trays, what to have? Then there is Dad, he is dishing out scrambled eggs. Why do I remember scrambled eggs? Here is our Dad doing an every day meal, early in the morning for every body going along in line. I think, here is a man serving scrambled eggs? A man who puts his Life on the line every work day, doing for people. I then realize My Dad is a true Hero. Gould Lake Uncle Norm and Aunt Madeline. Do you remember where you were when those epic words, "Houston the Eagle has landed", were spoken? I do! Gould Lake of course! Here were wet play cloths on the line, sand in your swim suit; the required taste of vinegar on French Fries. The place with Stringers of Bass, we would co-ordinate a stand of Birch trees on the Far Side and the cabin down the way toward the Sugar Shack Party Store. "Drop the anchor now", Dad would say when the Secret Site came to be in conjunction, like some alignment of planets in Heaven. This fishing Mecca had only been revealed to the novice vacationer after a few summers had gone by.
Paul George Waurzyniak Jul. 31, 1957
The Waurzyniak Family were then deemed worthy after previewing themselves in their excursions to the Great Outdoors. Two cabins down a very steep slope Dad parked the station wagon at the top. Now the descent of kids and supplies would zig zag down the drive towards the best Wonderland place to be. Filling your Keds with sand and crunchy gravel. Hauling armloads of clothes, bedding, water toys, swim fins, masks and prized fishing gear. Oh how we practiced casting on our lawn in Detroit with our Zebco angling outfits - those fish never had a chance! How Mom and Dad could get "the crew' in Moby our Polaris station Wagon, one of white, later one of gold. With a canvas covered load of provisions on top was a logistical masterpiece likened to the greatest expeditions. I could go on about the cabin's woody scent, bathing in a bucket in the kitchen. I liked helping Uncle Norm getting the boats out from under the storage area beneath the Sun Porch of the cottage. Mom painting pictures of the view outside, us kids doing artwork on paint-by-numbers. I still paint and have one of Mom's work looking towards the beach. Uncle Norm had a wood speed boat fast enough to ski behind. Jim and Mike good enough to stand up on the ski board. Myself I never made it beyond kneeling on the board followed by a dunking in the lake. Sometimes we would just cruise along the shore line passing simple cottages of yesterday.		To the Sugar Shack Here we would stock up on needed items to live well in the great outdoors. Candy and comic books, night crawlers for the harness hooks that those Bass in the Secret Spot found irresistible. Gas up the Chris Craft - make sure to get the mixed gas and oil fuel. Speaking of fuel, a case of Hamm's and a fifth of V.O. or Canadian Club for a short snort. Here's mud in your eye, Dad! In the evenings, now sweat shirt chilly, a family gathering around the fire pit to make smores and hot dogs. Gazing at the starriest sky, Injun Joe would appear to tell stories of the Deep Woods. Living up to the legends riding the back roads in the Heap-of-a-Jeep. Feel you stomach go weightless as Injun Joe - long black hair and striped poncho - would tear up the old logging roads for the best thrill ride. Help us if another vehicle would come the other way! Let me wrap this up as 10 years or so later I would find out that Uncle Norm and Aunt Madeline were not directly related to us. Only in my heart and memory how I now wish for a million Canadian Dollars and a Time machine. I'd buy those two wonder struck cabins of endless summers and take my family of my own now to the stories of Uncle Norm and Aunt Madeline, Injun Joe, the Poka Dot Dalmatian, the baby maker and Pie Lady, from AuSable to Tobemory, where men landed on the Moon. If only ... Moon. If only ... P. Waurzyniak - March, 2004