The Old Swimming Hole
Freeman Ashworth -- March 1, 2008
In the land where there are three seasons of winter (almost winter, winter, and still winter) and one season of road construction, I first made the scene. I hate to put DePeyster, NY in that category, but that about sums up its climate as I recall. At the time, I would complain about the rotten weather, but did little about it. I sense that most everyone feels he/she lives in God’s country and the weather is part of it. In my teen years of the 1940’s, commonly known as the war years, we were essentially tied to a small farm in the Township of DePeyster. There was little community social entertainment, and if we wanted to socialize, we had to create on our own.
There was a war going on, both in Europe and in the Pacific, but the gang I hung around with was too young to be involved. Some of us volunteered to be aircraft observers; others collected cans and scrap iron for the war effort. One boy a couple of miles down the road, was killed during a naval battle. Outside of that and putting up with blackouts and meatless Tuesdays, we felt little effects of that war. We were far more concerned with our everyday farm life – and chores.
Even today, after being off the farm for over fifty years, I think farming equals chores. There were always chores seven days a week, night and morning. We were anchored to farm work as if we had chains attached to our feet. There was no letup from chores. Cows had to be milked, all the animals had to be fed, and watered and cleaned, machinery needed tending or repaired. These were on-going tasks that all dairy farmers endured, like having to breathe or taking the annual bath.
Speaking of bathing, and I refer to the haying season, after a hard day in the hayfield. We went swimming to cool off. Working in the hayfields was usually hot and sweaty work, and jumping into the old swimming hole was just the ticket. It was located back on the Factory road about a quarter of a mile from any watchful eyes. Since the factory had closed down, there was little traffic along this single-lane dirt ‘boulevard.’ Fish Creek ran all over this flat land of St. Lawrence County. Usually after the flooding from the January thaw, we could skate for miles on it. Its origin was from Hickory Lake, running through our farm, over to Pope Mills, emptying into Black Lake. Black Lake emptied into the Oswegatchie River and that into the St. Lawrence River.
In the summertime, especially during the haying season its waters were tolerable for swimming. In those days, bathing suits were an option, unless women were present. Most girls that ever came to the swimming hole made one visit and that was it. They were squeamish about removing the bloodsuckers that attached themselves to their skin while swimming. I did not mind them all that much, but like mosquito bites, their after effects often itched. More than likely, they would stick between our toes. Moreover, the girls got scared when something in the water started nibbling at their toes.
While growing up, I did not mind the rugged weather of the North Country. It was simply ‘out there,’ period. We knew there were warmer climes and more tolerable places in this country to live. However, it meant having to put up with natural disasters, poisonous snakes, fire ants and alligators. Our only natural disaster was our nine-months of winter. We had snakes and ants, but they were usually harmless. And the nearest things we had that resembled alligators were Roy Stewart’s alligator shoes. Dad claimed that the cold weather killed the real poisonous pests.
Ahh! Those were the days. They were rough years, but I was young and was never going to grow old. Would I want to be a teenager again? Would I wish to re-live the past? Would I want to return to them or any scenes of yesteryear? Not on your tintype! I have been there, done that. No way!
The old swimming hole has grown up to weeds, lily pads and swamp grass, and no one maintained it for years. Give me the comforts of modern living, heated indoor pools and all that goes with it. Nonetheless, I still recall the good times we had at that old swimming hole.
Until later, cheers!