After living almost 50 years in these here parts, I am still enthralled by Niagara Falls.

My infatuation began early, and that short visit lives in my memory.

My mother was always up for a road trip with a fascinating destination. She had never traveled from Massachusetts to Western New York, but the idea of seeing the falls and day-tripping into Canada intrigued her.

We went during spring vacation when I was 10 years old. The falls were astonishing, especially after we crossed to the Canadian side where I stood right beside the heavy, speeding waters sliding and roaring over the edge. I was thrilled and terrified at the same time. Holy Horseshoe!

We rode the Maid of the Mist from the Canadian side. The cliffside funicular to descend to the dock and boats was still there back then. By the time I donned my rent-a-raincoat, my anticipation soared into an adrenaline rush. I had never been to any place or event with that kind of daring, that kind of noise. I had a twirling tingle in my chest and tummy.

By the time our boat got to the base of the falls, I was hanging on my daredevil mother’s arm as she stood, naturally, at the point of the bow. “You always want to be where you can get the best view,” she confided. My excitement was at fever pitch as the water thundered around us.

Thrilled with the experience, I learned that Mom had another surprise in store – the new Floral Clock along the Niagara Parkway. Mom took snapshots of me admiring the enormous real clock which was planted with thousands of springtime flowers. I watched the 20-foot second-hand sweep around the clockface, amazed that there could be such a thing. I guess she wanted her natural inquisitiveness, her wanderlust, awakened in her small sidekick.

The next morning, we visited the cereal plant in Niagara Falls, N.Y. I had learned from my reading at the breakfast table that the big puffy pillows of shredded wheat were made there. The production tour ended in the lunchroom. I was just a kid, but I was hooked on all this information.

They offered everyone a bowl of shredded wheat with fresh strawberries. Along with coffee and tea for the adults, they also offered Triscuits, which were relatively new. They were made by the same process as the shredded wheat, only salted and baked longer. I was thrilled to be selected to taste-test and receive a box of their new-formula crackers. It doesn’t take much to excite a fourth-grader.

I’m sure I was chosen because I was wearing my new Girl Scout uniform. My mother couldn’t understand why I wanted to take it. But it was brand new, and I had just mastered the scarf’s square knot, so I couldn’t possibly leave it home.

Fast forward 27 years: My late husband, Tom, originally from Rochester, also visited the falls as a kid. We both had strong memories of our childhood visits. Our first family trip with our children happened on a hot Memorial Day, but it was complicated.

The kids were just getting over a month-long confinement with the most serious cases of chicken pox the doc had ever seen. He finally declared them noncommunicable, and poor kids, they needed to get out of the house. Our daughter’s pox were almost healed, but 3-year-old Bart was covered in penny-sized scabs. We dressed him in his favorite bright yellow Big Bird sunsuit. He loved it because by flipping the straps up and down, he could scratch his itchy back.

The Canadian side of the falls was mobbed with busloads of camera-laden Japanese tourists. As we walked toward the viewing area, I heard a murmur, which built to a loud babble of Japanese. The crowd parted – like the Red Sea. Staring at the scabby little boy, many took pictures of him while we received shocked looks. Our children walked directly to the edge, so excited to see the raging waters up close. I said to Tom, “Maybe we should have hung a ‘Not Contagious’ sign around his neck.” We chuckled and led our little yellow-clad pariah and his sister freely through the constantly opening crowds in the complex.

In 2018, my grandson, Malcolm, stayed an extra week after the family’s annual summer visit. The last item on our agenda was a trip to Niagara Falls. Malcolm was 10, as I had been on my first trip. When we boarded the Maid of the Mist, we went right to the bow for the best – and wettest – panorama. “Malcolm, you always want to be where you can get the best view.” Mom’s words rang in my ears as I passed on her advice.

Malcolm’s visit confirmed that no view of the falls has ever disappointed us – not in four generations. After all, a world-class natural wonder always inspires – wonderment.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.