Swimming pool

Swimming

I love to swim, always have. Growing up in California, pools were the summer play area. I’ll head to the pool this afternoon to get some post Thanksgiving exercise. The pool at camp, and swimming in the river, was the best of times. Not really much swimming during the afternoon, but the morning swims, instructional swims, were great. Edna was the swimming instructor who could give out the Red Cross cards. It was another interesting Edna facet that she was very highly regarded in Red Cross circles—I had a swimming instructor at Chico State who, when she found out I knew Edna, extolled her virtues. I never really understood the details but I think this woman was even more special than I realized. She was a WSIT, a Water Safety Instructor Trainer. She could teach WSI’s who were otherwise the highest rated safety people in the Red Cross system (they could, in turn, teach junior and senior lifesaving.)

And each year I worked on another card. As I’ve said before, the only awards at camp were 5 Hershey Bars for falling off a horse and Red Cross Cards for swimming. This differs greatly from many camps that have intricate and elaborate awards at the ends of session. In most camps you could get an archery award, at many levels, maybe compete in riding or even swim meets. Not at ERN.

The other swimming person of note was Cheryl. What can I say? Cheryl is funny, tolerant and beautiful. And it’s pronounced like it’s spelled, “Ch” like Cherry.) There was a story, must have been an interesting and thoughtful family. I also remember Dorbi Cook (nor sure of the spelling) who was at camp as well.

An then there was the river...the Navarro, while wild in the winter, reverted to a series of warm pools, swimming holes, during the summer. A river of creek walks, barely enough water to get really wet. In my very early years the ranch across the way would dam a section of the river, near the Spring, to create a 3-4 foot deep area where we would swim as well. Even had an overnight or two here—don’t remember a name for the place. I do remember a raft made form old aircraft fuel tanks—the disposable tanks a long-range plane might carry and then drop when empty. Narrow torpedoes about 10-12 feet long with a deck.

Of course swimming meant boys and girls—I really don’t want to embarrass anyone, including myself, so I’ll stay tangential. It was just a great time to admire, wonder, ponder, joke about the differences, Viva la Difference. Paula, Nancy, others come to mind. It was part of camp- summer innocence. Dances, holding hands, swimming, cabin raids, all part of growing up.

On a personal note—I also love mechanical things, machines, systems, and the sand filters and pumps, chemicals and test kits fascinated me. As did the old shower near the Badminton court, sort-of solar heated. For a while we would line up on the concrete and then briefly shower. And the old valve, hidden in the blackberries, that brought up the river water to fill the pool. Skimming the pool, waiting by the gate till everyone was there. Swimming groups, free choice. All these little memories.