Camp Morton, 1920. This former children’s ‘fresh air’
I’ve come back here every fall for more than twenty years. It’s peaceful, it’s rustic, it’s ghostly, it’s magical. Disadvantaged children from the Winnipeg area would come to this Catholic-run camp for the a week in the summer. Old steps lead down to a crumbling beach house. A few of the other old buildings still stand—the water tower, the former chapel, the arcade. The sunken garden still blooms.
I’d like to think I can hear the sound of children laughing on the swings, but maybe that’s just some bird twittering. And is that the sound of a homesick child crying on a windy night? Probably just a drafty window.
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