In the earliest memory I have of camping at the pond, there is a small brick fireplace with the backside facing the “road” (the cement footing for this can still be found). Relatives cars were parked in various places between the tall pines, vaguely like a wagon train circle. After dark, Dad would stoke the fire and drink his beer, Mom and Aunt Ede would talk or sing songs, we would cook hot dogs or marshmallows, drink "Zarex" punch and run around in the shadows. There were a couple of tents set up and we younger kids got tucked in while the rest of the clan stayed up longer. I remember lying in our tent listening to the voices outside and watching the flickering fire light illuminate the canvas walls. One night I was awakened by lots of shouting and somebody grabbing me and pulling me out of the tent, which had caught on fire from a stray spark – not badly damaged, but Nenna was a wreck.
[Marly, David & Eric on Grampa Mac's float--
Cranberry Cove docks behind]
A boat dock reached out into the water and a floating raft was anchored about 20 feet out from the end. Little kids were allowed to jump off the dock and learn to dive, while bigger proven swimmers were allowed out on the raft where pushing games and cannonballs and general aquatic horseplay was vaguely acceptable. Old truck tire inner-tubes made good floats and we learned to target dive through them (remember to make sure the air valve safely turned away before you dove). Eventually Grampa decided that the liability risk and the appeal of the dock & float for uninvited strangers was not worth it, so he took them down. (In retrospect I think they were needing repairs and as he himself didn’t need or use them, he simply saved himself time, money and aggravation and took them down – and blaming unknown strangers was an easy excuse).
A chain link fence and a few small bushes separated Grampa Mac’s property from the Cranberry Cove beach to the right. Often Nenna would sit on our side of the fence and chat with acquaintances on the other side, but same as now-a-days we were not allowed to cross over to “The Cove” (at least not while the lifeguards and other swimmers were there) and Cove visitors were not allowed onto our side (“excuse me but this is private property on this side of the chain link fence” was our stock comment for people stupid enough to not figure it out as they detoured around the end of the fence and past the “No Trespassing” sign). The one exception was on Saturday mornings when a couple of instructors would bring a group of little swimmer-wannabees over and teach them how to kick and paddle and blow bubbles with their faces in the water. This meant for about an hour in the morning we couldn’t swim while they took over our spot. We quite scornfully scoffed that anyone would need lessons to learn to swim – we never did and we swam just fine.
So we played with plastic golf sticks & whiffle golf balls, paper Dixie cups sunken into the pine needle covered ground served as our “greens”. For a while, tetherball was a good distraction, and it was an ideal location for simply playing Cowboys and Indians.
The sounds of the Camp Kiwanee signal bell and the Camp Rainbow “moot” horn and young camper’s voices from both sides of the pond, and the sight of the sailboats and canoe fleets from the opposing summer camps kept us amused. Every two weeks, new city kids struggled to get their boats to go in the desired directions or even afloat. Flipping a canoe and righting it again were simply fun and intentional games for us. We could overturn, lift, drain and flip up-right the canoe even when we were over our heads and couldn’t touch bottom. Similar to our Island game “Happy Fizzy Party”, falling out of a boat was more fun than staying in it. Hanging out in the trapped air pocket under the canoe was also a common past-time.
The adults spent most of their time sitting in folding chairs on the shore – talking, reading books, and keeping an eye out with occasional obligatory warning shouts when we got too rambunctious. Everything came to a near standstill when Gramma Lil decided she was ready for a dip. No splashing or running allowed until she returned to her chair. Grampa Mac preferred to sit and listen to the Red Sox games on a transistor radio. When the game ended he would run into the water and dive. Then we would wait in anticipation to figure out when and where he would emerge – Grampa could hold his breath an incredibly long time and wouldn’t necessarily continue swimming in the same direction that he initially dove in. He might come up in the lily pads near the Rainbow docks, or on the opposite side of the Cove. One day he panicked us all by not coming up ANYWHERE – well, actually he came up under the Cove dock where we couldn’t easily see him. Mom and Gramma Lil were both quite mad at him and tried to disguise their fear and relief by scolding him for being a bad influence on us – being at the Cove where he of all people knew we were never supposed to go.
After the Cove closed for the day, we would go beach-combing for left behind towels, toys, sandals, and whatevers. I would suppose that Mom went YEARS without every buying new towels. We would climb into the lifeguard tower/chair and yell rules at imaginary swimmers.
Once we all got a little older (Wes & Laurie in highschool) the rules changed and we got to spend longer time at the pond, with Tobin and Blauss tents pitched for the entire summer , and parental supervision less constant. We graduated into “The Older Years” of camping at the pond.
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1 comment:
I don't know, you are smokin' to me!!!
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