August ’71, in the back seat of a rented green Comet, “Sweet City Woman” on the radio and 30 plus heat pouring thru the open windows: no AC. Winnipeg to Grand Beach on the old 59.
I wore my Mickey Mouse tank-top and you brought our small blue beach ball to throw around as we walked onto the sandbars, looking back at my parents there on the dunes, towels over their heads in the midday sun.
While a transistor played “Take Me Home, Country Roads”, we ate fries from trays doused in vinegar, as the heat throbbed down upon us. On the way home, we stopped to buy corn from a native man at a roadside stand, later agreeing those were the best cobs we had ever tasted as we sipped Bacardi and coke, in the stifling apartment. Little did we guess this would be our last two-couple trip sans kids.
First times are often the best. We really knew how to live then: simpler and younger. Together, free, and just starting out.