Hanging out at the beach in landlocked Calgary

Editor's Note: As part of CBC Calgary's Road Ahead series, we wanted to explore the places that will one day become C-Train stations along the new Green Line. We wanted to see the communities as they are now and look at what they might become. The Homestretch's Jenny Howe strolls around Auburn Bay.

When you take a longer wander, you usually find yourself looking for somewhere to sit.

Stroll into Auburn Bay, you'll find yourself in the land of Adirondack chairs.

You know, those classic wooden cottage country loungers that force you to lean back and invite you to rest your arms on oversized planks? Whatever you want to call them, you'll find them on banners throughout the southeast community of Auburn Bay with instructional pictographs telling you to just sit back and relax.

The symbols a community picks tells you a lot about how it wants to be seen. Auburn Bay presents itself as a place of leisure.

And where better to put up the ol' feet, than a lake?

• Seton is a community under construction but it already has a heart

Where is everybody?

Sometime around 2003, a developer had the great idea to gore a giant hole out of the prairie, fill it with water and proclaim it a lake. And hey, why not?

The southeast community of Auburn Bay is hugged by Deerfoot Trail, 52nd Street, Stoney Trail and Seton Boulevard. In other words, the centre of unrelenting traffic in the middle of the prairies.

I'd try to create an oasis, too.

It's clear when you drive into the neighbourhood this a place designed for families. The streets are lined with two-storey houses on either sides of the road.

Blue, red, beige, grey or brown. Those, apparently, are your options.

There are a bunch of parks with funky playground equipment designed to make kids giddy. And green spaces and ball diamonds are scattered around the perimeter.

Though, most of them were surprisingly vacant for a weekend afternoon. Where was everyone?

It was a bit eerie.

There were signs of kids everywhere: abandoned bikes tossed carelessly on well-manicured lawns, a forlorn basketball net sagging from its perch over a stately garage, scattered plastic toys littering smooth empty driveways.

But no kids. And this on a Sunday afternoon.

I drove deeper into this well-appointed ghost town.

And then, I saw it.

The giant, red mother-of-all Adirondack chairs, begging you to park your car and stay awhile in the heart of this community. The lake.

You can look, but ...

In Auburn Bay, membership has its privileges. The lake being one.

I, however, am not a member, thus my privileges are limited to the free parking in the lot of Auburn House — home of the Auburn Bay Residents Association.

It's a house, I must point out, that is painted red. Squint just the right way and it's appropriately the colour auburn.

The sign outside Auburn House is very clear about membership and the lake.

"No card, no access." Ouch.

Well. I get it. The people here pay a pretty penny to maintain this lake. And in Calgary urban design, pretty comes with a price tag. So, the lake is their thing. And who am I to freeload? Nevertheless, I sigh.

I gazed longingly at the beach that lays beyond the iron gate. It runs the perimeter of the just-out-of-reach paradise. I am an obvious outsider, which naturally makes me feel terribly out of place — an interloper.

Are they looking at me? Was that a raised eyebrow? Was I going to be asked to show my identity papers?

All of this, of course, is my own insecurity.

No one pointed. No on stared. No one said, "Excuse me ma'am. You ain't from 'round these parts, is ya?"

No. What I heard was, "My back's so hot-ahhhhh!"

I fully sympathize with the young boy complaining to his mom. It's a scorcher of a day. Especially in the parking lot.

The warmth from the radiating asphalt swirls with the heat from recently turned off car engines. Close your eyes and inhale deeply and you can imagine yourself on the side of a lonesome prairie highway.

But my journey around this community, is an "eyes open" kind of wander.

The 'thwack' of summer

People-watching is one of life's great joys.

The thing about going to a lake with a family is that one needs a lot of paraphernalia. Sometimes too much to lug without a vehicle.

While there are beautiful homes surrounding the lake, what surprised me a bit is that a lot of locals seem to drive here from their homes further out.

They arrive armed with lawn chairs, towels, inflatable toys, food, suntan lotion and hats, while herding their yelling children and maintaining a sense of anticipation.

Then there is the sound of weekend fun — thwack, thwack, thwack.

The hymn of most lakefronts is the percussion of the mighty flip-flop. Most people here, shod for some weekend respite, sport a pair. 

And other notes are added to the symphony of the lakefront.

Above the sounds of children squealing with delight, I hear the sound of water rhythmically hitting the ground. A waterfall, maybe? I look through the fence and saw the trademark primary colours and whirring wheels of a spray park. An empty spray park. The water guns point down giving them an air of disappointment.

Where are the marksmen?

I follow the sounds until my eyes reach a big green space behind the beach volleyball court. Four young children, no older than five or six years old, all spaced out equally. They are waiting — twitching in anticipation.

"Ready. Set. GO!"

And so begins a flurry of roundhouse kicks. It's like a modified version of tag unlike anything I've ever seen. The kids chase each other, stopping only when they attempted to air-stomp an opponent.

Within earshot of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle-esque quartet was a line of eight adults sitting in the sun. Chairs strategically positioned to face the west.

This is family at the lake. Together and apart at the same time. Children dabbling with independence. Parents casting a lapidary glace during the screams, and then returning to their conversation.

Everyone so comfortable I could tell this kind of gathering was a regular occurrence.

In a city of hustle and work, of getting somewhere, being something, doing, creating, making. In a city with a slogan like "be part of the energy," maybe we all need more of this.

Playing, relaxing and laughing.

The smoke from a barbecue wafts over what must've been one heck of a feast. Two picnic tables were littered with condiments: buns, salads, cookies, pop cans and a stack of paper plates.

I inhale deeply to try and decipher this weekend idyll. Laughter erupts from the group. Darn it! I missed the joke. I'll bet it was a good one. 

I set off in search of more action.

The smell of water

As I made my way around to the east side of the lake, I pick up a much quieter vibe.

Technicolour umbrellas dot the beach, vinyl inflatable animals bob in the water, but closer to the boat launch and tennis courts I find a more laid-back set.

Panama hat-wearing folks recline in the shade, paddle boarders focus on their zen-like rowing, and the man fishing from the dock seems to just be "in the moment."

No doubt he was hoping to catch a rainbow trout that day.

Water is such a rarity in Calgary. We inhabit this patch of inland prairie and yet for many of us, our hearts long for the tranquillity of water.

And so, communities like this one, offer a feeling of oasis.

There's the woman I saw just a few minutes ago in the parking lot — sporting her East Coast Lifestyle T-shirt. I get it. I do. I'm a former Maritimer myself, though Calgary is where my heart is.

I inhale deeply and wait for that fresh smell to hit my nostrils. But this day, maybe because I'm too far away from the water itself — nothing.

Still, I can imagine.

There's just something about the smell of water.

Here on the prairies, we have to settle for wafts from lakes and rivers, but there's just something about the smell that makes me want to run into it and make a big splash.

It turns me into a giant toddler. Water feels like a universal licence to just be in the moment. And so I wander and return to the spray park.

Now, it bustles. As kids armed with red, blue and yellow metal toys had a chance to prove themselves with their skills. And the parents were there to make sure it happens.

"You've got to point the gun up," instructs one father to his son.

Cue a three-second delay followed by the crying of a smaller child. The aim was maybe a little too true for one so inexperienced. A frustrated father at the makeshift basketball court encourages his son to "shoot higher!"

After some failed attempts the bored kid slumps on a retaining wall while his dad shows him how it was done. Pretty classic father-son teaching moments.

My own lake

Back in the parking lot, families stream in and out.

You can sense the excitement of kids bursting to run to the water as their parents fumble around and pull out their membership cards. Me? I'm heading back to my own neighbourhood.

I understand the appeal of this lake community with the cottage feel. My home in Cedarbrae is lakeless.

It often falls prey to the dust kicked up from ring road construction. My flowers sometimes have a fine layer of dirt on them thanks to the earth movers.

Goodness knows I would welcome a private paradise amid the parched landscape.

I find myself thinking about my unused, cobweb-ridden, Adirondack chairs in the garage.

Sure, they're cheap blue and plastic, but set around a wading pool on the deck? Throw in a drink, the radio and some sunglasses.

I think that'll do just fine.

Calgary: The Road Ahead is CBC Calgary's special focus on our city as we build the city we want — the city we need. It's the place for possibilities, a marketplace of ideas. Have an idea? Email us at: calgarytheroadahead@cbc.ca