I had an adventure today. For the first time in two years I jumped – well climbed – into my car, and drove the couple of kilometres from where I live, to the lake where I planned to walk the boardwalk.

Nat and I used to do that regularly; we both grew up in that neighbourhood and not that far apart, although we never met then – different schools. I found a parking place and walked through the park, where moms sat with little people in the playground sand boxes, keeping them from mischief, then down the steps to the boardwalk.

It is a glorious day with a cloudless blue sky and temperature about 28C. (82F.). The water was almost calm and a grey blue shade. I could see the irregular shadow of the US on the horizon. There were lots of real people, although it wasn't crowded, and I drank in every image (at a respectable distance; why take a chance at my age).

There is the water, then an irregular shoreline weaving and wandering from 150 feet to 50 feet of sand, up to the boardwalk. Then there are 20 feet or so of grass to a paved bicycle path and another 70 feet or so of very big, old, trees, and more grass before the street that parallels the waterfront.

Each of these areas was occupied by some. Those who denied the sun, content to doze in well shaded, portable hammocks or lounges. Cyclists with the signature spandex and helmets. Small groups with barbeques, wafting cooking smells on the faint breeze.

As I walked along I watched the beach volleyball game. Dedicated amateur athletes gasping as they flailed around parboiled. I saw the paddle board enthusiasts heading out past the intermittent, stone rubble, breakwater – a favourite site for the shorebirds – some definitely unskilled. Kayakers digging in with gusto as they sped past. On the sand, families had erected their umbrellas, cabanas and popup tents, with towels, and all the necessary pharmaceuticals close at hand.

Few braved the water for swimming. Not sure why, we lived in the lake when I was a kid, polluted or not. The old lifeguard stands are still here and there, which kind of contradicted the no swimming signs back then. Those rules are gone; swim if you like, they post a colour for water quality these days. The lake has also risen a lot too.

All along the walk there are benches on the grass side, donated, with dedications, as well as Muskoka chairs (you can Google it if you aren't familiar) moulded in a variety of colours in plastic. Some had been dragged to the water's edge by those who didn't relish lying down.

There they could watch the geese and ducks watching them. It was quiet! Only the sounds of voices – real voices – something I savoured after so long with telephone and Zoom. It was fun to watch everyone communicating face to face. I found a bench in the shade and parked myself, ready to take in the passing parade.

Families, with toddlers in tow, wearing tiny sundresses or shorts and sun hats – funny little things. Almost all had a dog on a leash. Joggers. Seniors, arm in arm, and pretty girls. Women seem to wear anything. Body types are inconsequential. Men are all in uniform. Shorts, golf or T-shirts, sockless in tennis shoes and baseball caps. Those body types ran the gamut.

Did I mention the pretty girls?

On the beach, I watched a small boy shovel sand onto his father, who was stretched out on a towel. He popped up, brushing furiously and hands waving at the boy. When he lay back down, the boy delivered another shovelful. Beautiful. I walked a little further along and stopped, looking down at a small girl who was sitting right next to the boardwalk, filling her shoes with sand.

I glanced around and saw the mother watching me with concern, and I smiled and pointed down, laughing as I walked away. When I was a kid there used to be a railing all along the edge of the walk and the boards were about two feet above the sand. Treasures galore were discovered under there. Items that had fallen through and pop bottles, with a return value of 2 cents. Five of those got you to the show!

I guess I covered about a mile, sat again across from a landmark, 100-year-old lifeguard station. It isn't used for that any more, but it was saved from demolition by petitions because it just belonged there, and everyone knew it. I watched more little people chase gulls through the sand, and toss food of some kind to the ducks. A few dogs had been released and let into the water, their violent shake on exit created a comedy of sunbathers taking flight.

More dogs and families on the walk back – did I mention the pretty girls? I spent about an hour and a bit making the round trip, including the sitting. When I got back to the Balmy Beach Canoe Club, which was where the stairs were that I had come down originally, I stopped to read the plaque.

It had reached 100 years in 2004, and there was also a list of important dates. When I was a kid playing down there, it was a wooden building with racks of rental canoes, inside and underneath the main structure, next to the boardwalk. At one end was a refreshment stand. On the park side was the lawn bowling – still there today!

Now the club is all brick with a rooftop patio that is entered from the park above and they don't rent canoes anymore.

As a teenager I went to dances there and achieved some skill doing, the Balmy, an exaggerated slide step that entailed bending your partner backwards, almost to the floor.

The walk was a wonderful experience, one I hope to repeat often as the summer goes along. The memories were worth the heat. Back in the car, I drove around a few blocks and boggled at how much my old neighbourhood had changed. Our apartment was still there, new paint of course. The coal chute grate was still in the sidewalk under the living room window, not used today I'm sure.

The bank was some kind of organic food store and the only other place I remembered was the Fox theatre. The big marquee was gone but the rest was the same. Every Saturday all through the 1940s, 10 cents bought two feature films, coming attractions, cartoons, newsreels, selected shorts and on departure, a black and white comic book. Remember those empty pop bottles?

I passed the church where we were married and it was being renovated – soon nothing will remain to match memory, but then I guess new memories will be made. This particular one was of a very pretty girl.

Back home and on the balcony with a carton of Thai Bites from Boston Pizza, a glass of cold milk and a view across the same lake I had just enjoyed up close, I nodded with satisfaction at having taken that walk in the sun.