All of Lytton, B.C., was a summer camp of sorts

We didn’t have summer camps when I was growing up in the Fraser Canyon hamlet of Lytton, B.C., 260 kilometres northeast of Vancouver and in the shadow of Jackass Mountain.

Not that our parents didn’t fantasize about even a few hours of quiet in a house full of four furniture breaking, constantly chattering kids. In Lytton, the idea of cottages and getting away seemed oddly exotic and a bit redundant.

And where would we go to get away from Lytton? We already were away. Where would we go to unwind when we already lived in a community of less than 500 with no traffic lights, elevators or escalators? Boston Bar? Spences Bridge? Spuzzum?

Summers in Lytton consisted of hanging around the town swimming pool, riding bikes, trips to a friend’s ranch and Scouts.

There was also the occasional parade, when everyone in town dressed up as a pioneer and marched down Main Street. Once we were finished marching, we were expected to join the audience and cheer on the other marchers. Everyone was in the parade and everyone was in the audience that way.

Lytton made a valiant attempt at scouting. The Boy Scout stetsons went over well — although the Lord Baden-Powell birdwatcher-style shorts and odd high socks were generally regarded as something best kept out of town.

Our scout master was a nice man named Mr. Keeble and one hot summer’s day he took us on a hike through the mountains above town. High above town, a largesized kid announced he couldn’t walk anymore and poor Mr. Keeble had to lug him home. I was impressed with Mr. Keeble’s burrolike carrying ability as well as his restraint, considering how easy it would have been to roll the kid off a cliff.

There was always fastball on summer evenings in Lytton at a ballpark midway between the town and the reserve. It seemed half the town and reserve residents would scream, “Down in the dirt big chucker!” at the same time.

When I moved to more refined Ontario, I never heard anything remotely like that. No one there seemed to even know what a big chucker was and I wasn’t about to educate them.

There were no Starbucks or drivethroughs in Lytton. There were no chain restaurants of any sort. There was a drive-in movie theatre down by the junction of the Fraser and Thompson rivers. There, it was socially acceptable to arrive in the trunk of a car to save a few bucks entry fee.

There were also movies in the small downtown legion hall, where a no drinking rule wasn’t strictly enforced. My strongest memory was when one of the toughest kids in town relieved himself in the large popcorn tub of an enthusiastic eater sitting a couple of seats over from me. The kid with the popcorn hadn’t shared even a kernel with me or anyone else so I wasn’t about to show any sympathy for his plight or rat out the public urinator. The urinator had remarkable sniper like precision so I felt safe.

I don’t remember the movie, but I do remember the expression of the kid when he suddenly stopped eating his popcorn. I took this as a graphic life lesson on the hazards of being selfish, although I don’t think the urinator had any great moral purpose in mind when he created that memory.

Most of all, in the summers, there was the swimming pool, just one to serve the entire community.

My mother sent us off there in the morning and didn’t expect us home until suppertime.

Our poor mother would cringe and gaze up at the heavens on badweather days when the pool was closed and we all stayed home.

When I was 11 my family moved away from Lytton, but my childhood memories of summers there remain the best. The whole community was a summer camp of sorts.

That whole community burned down two summers ago in a bellwether for climate change. Not surprisingly, locals love the place enough to rebuild, even though some didn’t have insurance.

For city kids, the hopes of happy summer memories can be reached through the Star’s Fresh Air Fund.

Toronto Star readers have been helping out for 115 years and I hope you will too.

That whole community burned down two summers ago in a bellwether for climate change. Not surprisingly, locals love the place enough to rebuild, even though some didn’t have insurance