A beautiful, giant, gnarly tree grew creekside along a bend. As the water swirled around, it dug a convenient hole … a swimming hole. A thick lower branch of the tree spanned over the water and offered a heavy knotted rope, “Tarzan”-style. Someone was thoughtful, for so many of the village children took advantage, swinging and plopping into the water with the familiar, bellowing, King-of-the-Jungle call. Nothing’s better on a hot steamy summer day then cool, cool water.
A family directive was to always wear an old pair of sneakers for wading. Rocks or anything sharp can be dangerous, but the mushy “cow flops” squishing between toes is another story.
Interestingly, when one of our children lost a sneaker, sinking to the lower depths, in dove Georgie! Down he swam to retrieve his prize and of course his many rewards of loving hugs, and praise of “Well done, good and faithful dog!”
Yes, those were enjoyable days, but so long ago. It all seems like a different lifetime.
Moving from Franklin was not a happy time. We enjoyed seeing our children grow up in that lovely area, with so many memories, but then came the “empty nest” syndrome. It was time for the children to make their way in the adult world and our house was too large for two aging parents, so we simplified our life.
We moved to Schenevus, and guess what? Yes, another delightful creek ran through the town of Maryland. The first of April tells the story, just looking at the enthusiastic fisherman lined up and wading waist-deep in the still-freezing water.
Years ago, our young grandson, now close to 20, was visiting from California. Small boys find adventure in streams and we fueled his imagination with a barrel of wood straps my husband had collected. A few nails, a hammer and some acrylic poster paint and, voila — a little streamlined boat emerged!