When I was 8-10 years old my father went through a phase I like to call “gentleman farmer.” He bought 25 acres about ten miles from town with a view of the Lake (Erie) and decided to tame the “back yard, ” bought a Toro riding mower with a 36″ blade and put my sister and I to work mowing. Yes, I learned how to use a clutch at age eight.
It took five hours to mow, three for the back 40, two closer in so my sister and I traded sections every weekend. Then he decided to put in a pool. Oh, btw the house wasn’t finished so we worked on it every weekend for three years. Retaining walls, laying 3,000 bricks around the pool three years in a row because we used sand and had cold, snowy winters. I used a rudimentary miter box and cut all the window frames and used both hands to use a staple gun to put a drop ceiling in the basement. Now people talk to me about “hands-on” volunteer programs, hello, I’ve been there. And I got fifty cents a week allowance for my efforts!
We were glad of the pool because it cut down our mowing time! Also we could have pool parties for our friends, the guys next door came over every day and we could ask Mom and Dad to go skinny dipping (just us, not the guys) at night after we each passed our intermediate swim classes at the local University pool.
We took care of that pool, cleaning it, fishing toads out of the filter basket and testing the water. And we had to wear bathing caps because if we didn’t, our hair may clog the filter. We had short hair, and never saw a hair in the filter basket, but in a Teutonic upbringing, those were the rules.
Our first trip to the ocean was to Virginia Beach. We wore dresses for the 14-hour drive, because we had to look nice when we got to the motel. On subsequent trips we negotiated the right to wear matching shorts/shirts until 1/2 hour before arrival, then we’d change in the car.
We get to the beach and it’s beautiful! Mom says “put on your bathing caps!” What? Is our hair going to clog the filter basket? We looked at each other and a plan was in place. Wait ten minutes until parents get bored and know we’re OK, then wait for a big wave, dive down and bury the bathing caps in the sand. It worked! “Yes, we’re OK, only our bathing caps didn’t survive the wave.”
That trip I learned the uncomfortable feel of a cup of sand in my one-piece bathing suit but saw a horseshoe crab and walked on the beach and had a great time. And I never had to wear a bathing cap in a pool or ocean again. Isn’t childhood fantastic?
One more story. My younger sister had her friends over for a pool party for probably her 8th birthday. She knew she had a pool and her friends didn’t so took them all out there. A good rule was that Mom had to be out there or watching us from the kitchen window whenever we were in the water. Mom said “Go.” My sister grabbed books from her room and handed one to each of the girls, all salivating to take the plunge. She said, “read for an hour then you can swim.”
Mom came right out and asked what was going on. She told my sister that she could read her book if she wanted, but the other girls were going swimming. Without bathing caps. Cheers, have an amazing day! Dee
Cooking with Dee 