My watermark is Lake Erie.

When I was young at Lake Erie, my sisters and I would bury each other in the dry warm sand, wash off in the freezing cold water and try tanning in the burning hot sun. I absolutely adored squishing the wet sand in between the cracks of my toes, and I still do. I would swim in the lake as if I was a little fish, build sand castles as if I was an architect, and body surf on my mini surfboard as if I was an Olympic athlete.

When I was young at Lake Erie, I’d curl up into a ball of fear while my sister would feed the seagulls. They would kick, peck and beat each other while trying to get one of the pringles that Tayla threw like their life depended on it. I loved eating crunchy chips, mouthwatering candies and chewy gummies. I could do flips, tricks and handstands underwater and not care about my surroundings. Then I would try to dive gracefully, splash violently and float lightly in the lake.

When I was young at Lake Erie, I would imagine that I was a mermaid finding the real world, an explorer searching for Atlantis and Nemo looking for Merlin and Dory. I’d struggle to leave the water as the waves pulled me in, chucked me out and knocked me over when I tried getting to shore. So I’d hop back into the water, get on top of my unicorn pool toy and float away.

Down by Lake Erie, I’d be able to swim in the water and just be a happy, cheerful and carefree child, completely clueless on what was going on around me. My sisters might’ve wanted to go to the fair or make arts and crafts, but I didn’t. All I wanted to do, for as long as possible, was swim in Lake Erie.