THE OLD SWIMMING HOLE
The months of July and August always remind me of when I was a little girl in the summertime while growing up in Barrington, N.S. Once each year we’d go to the Barrington Lake to picnic and swim in the "old swimming hole" there.
Mum would make tons of creamy cucumber sandwiches, wrapped in wax paper and placed in a box. She’d also make a chocolate cake or rhubarb pie and we’d carry large bottles of kool-aid. We would walk the mile or so to my grandparent’s home where he’d have the horse and wagon prepared for our "adventure".
Sometimes we’d sit in the back of the wagon with Grammie and Mum; sometimes we’d run up ahead or lag behind. When we finally got to the "clearing" and while the grownups were emptying the wagon, we’d run to find the old swimming hole and play in the cool refreshing water. It was always just like I’d remembered it from the summer before.
I had been told that there was some kind of current or "tug" that could pull one under, never to be seen or heard from again! I do not know to this day if that was true or not. Someone else said that there were huge snakes in that hole but that never scared me as much as the thought of being sucked in the hole itself!
My grandmother had brought plenty of buckets for us all to go pick blue- berries and so we’d spread out to pick them until noon. Often, I’d hear my mother and her mother softly singing songs or humming. My grandma liked the old Irish songs the best. Then, we’d lay the blankets on the warm grass and sit around Indian style eating our lunch. Grammie would usually always "surprise" us with her delicious lemon tarts.
While they sipped their hot tea from a thermos and chatted, we’d drink our orange kool-aid. I liked to sit near my grandfather when he smoked his pipe as I loved the smell of the tobacco. He’d take me with him to water his horse who he had tied to a tree in the shade. He treated his animals like people, talking to them softly and patting them lovingly.
After lunch, we were made to wait a bit before swimming again in the old swimming hole. We knew it would be another whole year before we’d get to play here again. The grownups would continue to pick berries close beside us. When it was getting past three o’clock and their backs began to ache, we’d start to head for home, tired, sunburned and very happy.
Grampie would deliver us right to our door and help take our share of blueberries inside. Mum would clean them and send one of us to the store for sugar, if we needed it. Then, we’d have the juiciest and best fresh blueberries with real cream from our cow for dessert. Throughout the following long and cold winter months, whenever we spread some homemade blueberry jam on our thick buttered toast from the top of the old wood stove, I’d think of that day we had picked them and smile.
Sometimes, the best times are the simplest of times when being with those we love and making memories, is a reward in itself.
The months of July and August always remind me of when I was a little girl in the summertime while growing up in Barrington, N.S. Once each year we’d go to the Barrington Lake to picnic and swim in the "old swimming hole" there.
Mum would make tons of creamy cucumber sandwiches, wrapped in wax paper and placed in a box. She’d also make a chocolate cake or rhubarb pie and we’d carry large bottles of kool-aid. We would walk the mile or so to my grandparent’s home where he’d have the horse and wagon prepared for our "adventure".
Sometimes we’d sit in the back of the wagon with Grammie and Mum; sometimes we’d run up ahead or lag behind. When we finally got to the "clearing" and while the grownups were emptying the wagon, we’d run to find the old swimming hole and play in the cool refreshing water. It was always just like I’d remembered it from the summer before.
I had been told that there was some kind of current or "tug" that could pull one under, never to be seen or heard from again! I do not know to this day if that was true or not. Someone else said that there were huge snakes in that hole but that never scared me as much as the thought of being sucked in the hole itself!
My grandmother had brought plenty of buckets for us all to go pick blue- berries and so we’d spread out to pick them until noon. Often, I’d hear my mother and her mother softly singing songs or humming. My grandma liked the old Irish songs the best. Then, we’d lay the blankets on the warm grass and sit around Indian style eating our lunch. Grammie would usually always "surprise" us with her delicious lemon tarts.
While they sipped their hot tea from a thermos and chatted, we’d drink our orange kool-aid. I liked to sit near my grandfather when he smoked his pipe as I loved the smell of the tobacco. He’d take me with him to water his horse who he had tied to a tree in the shade. He treated his animals like people, talking to them softly and patting them lovingly.
After lunch, we were made to wait a bit before swimming again in the old swimming hole. We knew it would be another whole year before we’d get to play here again. The grownups would continue to pick berries close beside us. When it was getting past three o’clock and their backs began to ache, we’d start to head for home, tired, sunburned and very happy.
Grampie would deliver us right to our door and help take our share of blueberries inside. Mum would clean them and send one of us to the store for sugar, if we needed it. Then, we’d have the juiciest and best fresh blueberries with real cream from our cow for dessert. Throughout the following long and cold winter months, whenever we spread some homemade blueberry jam on our thick buttered toast from the top of the old wood stove, I’d think of that day we had picked them and smile.
Sometimes, the best times are the simplest of times when being with those we love and making memories, is a reward in itself.
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