On Pools and Lakes in the Summertime

This summer, our outdoor activities might be limited because of the pandemic. When I was a teenager, as soon as the school year was over, we spent a lot of time by the water. I’ve written about Coeur d’Alene Lake many times on this blog. But there were also swimming pools.

The YMCA in my home town had an indoor pool. My brother and I took lessons there, though I stopped when he passed a class and I didn’t. If I couldn’t be better than he was, I didn’t have much interest in improving. Still, we would go occasionally just to swim.

Then my parents joined a neighborhood pool about a mile from our house. The route to the pool was treeless, and there was no shade once we got there either. A mile was a long way to walk carrying our swimming paraphernalia. The summer sun beat down on our heads and the ambient air temperature hovered around 100 degrees. So until I could drive, we usually tried to wheedle Mother into driving us. She didn’t like to swim, and it was too hot for her to sit out on the concrete while the kids swam, so our wheedling was not that successful. Our dad liked to swim, so he would take us in the evenings sometimes. But he did his laps and then was ready to leave—no sitting poolside for him while we played. I think my younger siblings were glad when I got my driver’s license.

When we did go to the pool on those summer afternoons, the dry, windy heat was perfect for swimming. Jumping in the pool to escape the 100-degree heat felt wonderful. And getting out of the pool felt almost as good. Unlike Missouri, there was no humidity in Richland, and the water on our skin and swimsuits continued to cool us as it quickly dried. Then we baked in the sun again until it was too much, when we jumped in again.

Still, all things considered, I preferred Coeur d’Alene Lake to swimming pools. The water was frigid until at least the Fourth of July, so we spent less time swimming than at the pool. But the air was usually cooler than in Richland, and lying on the dock, rocking in the wakes of passing boats, was delightful. As long as I didn’t see any spiders on the dock—occasionally, a humongous one would surprise me as it crawled from underneath the dock boards to the surface. I’d squeal, splash it into the water, or inveigle my brother to deal with it. (That was about as successful as convincing our mother to drive to the pool.)

On our trips to our Coeur d’Alene cabin, we went down to the dock about 10:00 in the morning and didn’t leave until around 3:00. Lunch was snacks, and the drink was Pepsi. We sunbathed and swam and waterskied all day. It was idyllic. And I knew it.

I think all my water experiences since those summers on Coeur d’Alene Lake have been attempts to recreate that Eden. Our current homeowners’ association has a swimming pool, though due to the pandemic, we haven’t been there yet this year. And I’m not fond of swimming laps, though my husband is.

My husband has a boat he keeps near Smithville Lake, about thirty minutes from our home. We took it out this weekend. The smell of the lake water—a whiff of decaying plants and fish overlaid with motor oil—was the same as at Coeur d’Alene. But no evergreens lined the shore, and the water was too choppy to ski (even if we had the equipment to do so).

Still, as I watched the families pulling their kids on tubes and floats, I hoped their children were building memories as perfect as the ones I have from my childhood summers. Even in the midst of a pandemic, summer and water bring joy and bliss.

What do you remember about summer water fun?