Sunday, July 14, 2019

Swimming Down at the Boys Camp

When growing up in the country, my cousins, siblings and I had no place to go swimming. While there was the creek that flowed behind our houses, that creek was full of blood suckers. We played around that creek all the time. But we never swam in it.

So on real hot days, we'd wait for one particular aunt to get home from work. And when she did, we'd be there, hoping she'd take us swimming. She didn't have to load us all into a car with our bathing suits on and holding on to our towels. All she had to do was go inside the house. Put on her bathing suit under some casual clothes. Grab some graham crackers. Walk us across the road and down a path through a field to what was known as the Boys Camp.

The property was owned by our grandparents. Out of the goodness of their hearts, they'd open it up in the summertime to the boys at an orphanage a few miles away. The orphanage was run by nuns. They would stay with the boys at the Boys Camp. There was a small building where the nuns would sleep. The boys slept in tents. There was a bigger building where they were fed. That building was also where Mass was said on Sundays and activities took place.

So on those really hot days, if we were lucky, that aunt of ours would hurry in the house, get changed, grab some graham crackers and walk us across the road and down through the field to the Boys Camp. From there, we kept on walking. We'd go through the Boys Camp-keep going until we had to go around a fence and down another path which led us to a river. By that time we were sweltering. But it never mattered. The walk down to that river was fun. We'd be carrying our towels, laughing and talking all the way.

Our aunt was a beautiful swimmer. After we all had our time splashing and holding on to rocks kicking and trying to swim and pretending to swim, our aunt would put her white swimming cap on. It was a slow process because she had long hair and she had to tuck it all up and into the rubber swimming cap. Once it was secure, she'd get into the water and slowly-very slowly-get her arms and legs wet. Then she'd stand on a very big rock. Make the sign of the cross and dive in as graceful as a swan. We'd watch as she did the overhand. She'd go out pretty far. When she came back in, we knew it was time to go back home. And that was okay. We ate graham crackers all the way home.

(Picture shows one of our swimming excursions. I am standing in the water with my head turned around to my cousin swimming. The aunt who always took us is sitting down on the rock watching us).

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