Written and submitted by Deanne Burch
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. At our cottage on Lake Muskoka, I have a photograph that is similar to the one pictured here. However, in my other photograph, there is a larger group of young women performing in the water ballet. At first, when I looked at the photograph, I thought I was part of the group. When I looked more closely, I saw my father sitting on the rocks and I was beside him. I found my mother with her permed hair. I think I even found my younger brother with blonde hair. My future mother in law was in the photo as well. All of us were sitting half way down the rocks with our backs to the camera enjoying the production that was taking place before us. Further up on flat land , just behind the rocks, were chairs set out for the matriarchs of the club; these were for them to sit on and be comfortable.
As a young woman I remember the ease with which I could scamper up and down those rocks; I promised myself that I would always be able to do that.
The tradition of the Regatta at this club, has continued all my life; the water ballet has metamorphosed into a production with more deck work, than swimming. Going through old photos today, I found photos of the Regatta through the generations.
When my daughters took part in the water ballet, they still wore the dreaded white bathing suits; some of those girls had taken synchronized swimming in the winter.
I was the proud mother sitting at the bottom of the rocks, but ready to scramble further up the rocks if I couldn’t see properly. By now the matriarchs who were sitting on the chairs had changed slightly. There were grandmothers of friends of mine, sitting in the chairs that were reserved for them. It was about 1976 then, my mother and mother in law had not yet graduated to that position.
Eventually I had grandchildren of my own. I, was a now a happy grandmother, perched halfway up the rocks to watch the water ballet or the races that my grandchildren participated in. I still felt nimble, able to clamber up and down the rocks; yet, the odd time, an arm of a young man or woman would reach out to help me, if needed. How dare they? I was in control of myself — not yet old enough to need help.
The water ballet had changed. Now there was deck work instead of the precision of the water ballet.
The girls had more fun doing this and always were smiling. No more white bathing suits, just a conglomeration of different suits and styles. My grandson took part in the races as well and for a couple of years was first place in every race he went in. Then he grew tired of it— said that he would use his cups for a pencil holder.
Life was changing fast. Looking up to the top of the rocks, I saw a few of my “older” friends sitting in the chairs reserved for the older women. “Really”, I thought, “they can’t be old enough to sit there!”. Maybe my friends were arthritic and not able to move as well as I could.
For several years, I watched the Regatta from whatever vantage point was best for me. I still sat on the rocks to watch, although I was finding the rocks less and less comfortable. The grandchildren were growing quickly and sometimes were not even participating in the Regatta. There was no need for me to be present at all, except that I could visit with friends that I had not seen all winter, and watch their grandchildren participate.
In 2019, I fell in the bathroom. I don’t know how I fell, but I broke four ribs so badly that I needed to have rods to stabilize them. I was no longer the agile person I thought I was. Time had, I guess, taken its toll on me. I arrived at the lake in time for the Regatta. I was anxious to see old friends and the Regatta was a way to do so. For a while, I talked to people on the dock. Then I chatted with friends on the steps of the club. I really wanted to watch the age old tradition of the water ballet. Where was I going to sit? My ribs were still sore. I didn’t want to sit on the rocks and take the chance of falling again. I saw on empty spot on one of the chairs at the top of the rocks. I plunked myself down beside one of my friends and wondered how many of the young people there would look at us and say “I am never going to sit in one of those chairs. I will always be able to get around the way I do today.”
I am now one of the matriarchs who sit at the top of the rocks, grateful to be alive and able to enjoy all that life has in store for me.
Tell Me Your Story 