Nature appreciated from a distance

As a child, I shared muddy creeks with the cows, bugs and dogs, scared the fish into hiding when I jumped off a country bridge and slid down the moss-covered falls near our farm. I never noticed the other life forms until I saw a water snake curled up in the shallows. That was the beginning of the end of enjoying playing in natural waters.
I loved the freedom of water, especially being able to do handstands. But I only did handstands when we went to the city pool. In the pool’s clear water, I spent hours exploring the wonder of being able to see underwater.
When I was 16, we moved to the waterless deserts of Arizona. The heavily populated public pools were OK, but the real fun began when my visiting aunt took us to the Pacific Ocean for a week.
At 16, I did not spend my time doing handstands. Instead I bounced with the waves out into the ocean and smiled at the guys. One came my way. We were bouncing along as he told me about being it he Marines when my foot landed on something.
“Ouch! I stepped on a piece of glass.” The Marine did not believe me until I headed for shore. My aunt, a nurse took one look and decided I needed to go to the emergency room. The emergency room technicians took one look and said I had been zapped by a sting ray, like the tanned guy on the other examining table. I took one look at him and smiled in spite of the pain. We shared the experience of getting shots and instructions to stay out of the water for a few days and left separately. For me staying out of the water meant the rest of the trip.
In fact, except for a few forays to the clear, blue water of “cement ponds.” I didn’t go swimming until we went to a lake after I was married with children.
My son came dashing back to where I was laying out the picnic. “The minnows nibble at my legs and toes, they tickle, Come’on.”
Laughing with him, I followed ankle deep into the water and stood still. The minnows swam over and brushed against my skin.
I quit breathing and quit thinking as one thought screamed in my head. “Get out and stay out.”
I stayed out for years. After my last child was born, we visited Cape Cod on a hot day. The heat of the sand and air drove me into the freezing Atlantic for relief. I couldn’t see my feet, but evidently neither could any little critters. That or the water was too cold for them to move.
I thought I could handle natural swimming again — until we spent the afternoon at the river with my son and his wife. When they looked at the river, they saw fun, fun, fun. When I looked, I saw slippery moss-covered rocks and pain.
I watched from the side until the sun had thoroughly toasted me. Then, wearing sandals, I tentatively eased into the icy water to cool off. But, I promise you, I did not relax until we went to the smooth bottomed pool at their apartment complex. No creepy crawlers, no moss and no cold water.
No nostalgic longing for childhood swimming either, I guess I’ve grown up.


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