A Seasonal Anthology Summer’s Joy -stories of summers past
As much as my annual trip around the sun includes in large part that sense of connection to nature and the joy of accompanying my garden friends, for me it’s the season to sit back and enjoy the fruit of the previous seasons mulching, pruning, composting, soil layering and planting. The other natural wonder that nourishes my soul and invites me to take refuge in during summer is water. Summer seems to be the shortest season, at least where I live in the antipodes, and as a child, when its arrival was officially announced in December it was time to drop my school bags for 6 weeks and head to the local public swimming pools, which were a half hour bike ride away. Morning, afternoon, and sometimes in the evening, it didn’t matter what the outside (or water) temperature was, that was the place I wanted to be.
Bodies of water hold great fascination for me and over the years their unique shape and mysterious presence have both fascinated and terrified me, fortunately never to the extent of being afraid of water, but definitely having a strong sense of awe and respect for its beauty and unpredictable force.
Entering rivers, water holes, beaches, estuaries, snow fed mountain pools, swimming pools and spa pools have been a part of my many years of summer rituals. In no particular order of course, but the snow fed mountain pool plunge was something I did in my younger years when I was feeling braver and my heart was possibly stronger, and the spa pool has definitely become something that I’ve enjoyed in my later years; a pool for all seasons as it is. All of these places represent times and seasons of my life, and I can clearly identify experiences that have led to the stories that have shape-shifted me, as water in itself has the inherent capacity to do.
Growing up in the South Island, the water was never warm, even on the hottest day. The pools weren’t heated and the beaches were home for icebergs. But it was summer, I was on holiday and I lived for the water. For a 5c entry I could play and laze around in that cold water for two hours at a time. I didn’t feel the cold. It was my joy and bliss. This was where I really learned to swim, and to dive! I can still remember my first clean and clear dive off the side of that pool. This was no belly flop rather a smooth glide into and embrace by the water that wrapped and melded me into its body, We were one.
I had a friend who would accompany me on occasions. She felt the cold and her dip lasted about ten minutes. My strong memory was of her standing on the side of the pool wrapped in a towel, turning shades of blue waiting for me to get out. To this day I’m not sure why she came with me. Maybe it was just the adventure of the bike ride because there seemed to be no joy in her found at the pools. And I was never going to get out before the whistle was blown, I was in it for the long haul.
The Beaches were a little less fun but no less alluring. The waves were always dumpers and there was a strong undertow. Under duress my mother would take my sister and I and whoever else wanted a swim to the beach once a year as part of my Fathers work summer picnic. She didn’t like the beach, sand or the sun, and would sit up in the dunes waving at us to tell us when it was time to get out which usually felt like five minutes. I do have strong memories of being thrashed around in the washing machine waves that picked me up and threw me about like the wet towel that was waiting for me on the beach but regardless of that, and the cold, I would turn my gaze towards the horizon so that I couldn’t catch Mum’s eye. There was no way I was getting out.
The Rivers were another wonderful feature of my love and thirst for the water. These were fast flowing, cold (coming down from the Southern Alps), dangerous and not designed for swimming at all. Their rocky bottoms could take the skin off the knees of anyone who was game, or stupid enough to try to traverse their swift flowing current. The best place to swim was in a water hole at the river’s edge, deep, almost bottomless caves of dark fresh water that had been excavated by diggers mining for the river bed stones to turn into concrete. These water holes also had no natural entry point and therefore nowhere to either walk into or hold onto when the dip was over. I almost drowned in one of these water holes one day when, as I reached for the side, lost my grip and went under. One of the adults who was picnicking with us at the time spotted me disappearing and jumped in to save me. I think I would have figured it out on my own, I knew where the surface was and how to buoy myself up again. It was a heroic but dangerous act on his behalf as there was nowhere for either of us to go but under but somehow he managed to haul me to the side as others hauled him out as well. Although it ended well, and he was the hero on the day, priding myself as a good swimmer I was left with a slightly wounded child-like pride and traumatic memory of it all. I suppose it could have been worse.
These days I don’t take many risks around water in the summer months. As much as I love it I stay close enough to the shore of the beach not to be dumped by waves. I visit rivers for the magic of their braiding and to dip my toes in, and the local pools are a far distant memory. Our Spa pool now offers me the sacredness of being held in a body of water that soothes my soul and refreshes my bones, and after a few hours in the garden (I always find my way back there) my practice and my joy is to slip into that hot bubbly water with a book. I’m grateful to be there, watched over by the grove of kanuka trees that shelter and greet me with an overhead wave, to be joined by the birds who provide the chorus line.
Wai | Water is a source of life, sacred, and a symbol of purity with cleansing powers. It’s a home for the gestating and a flood that flows at the time for birth. Without water all life would perish, it’s an elixir and a tonic. It’s the stuff clouds are made of, it covers 71% of the Earth’s surface, 60 % of the human body and makes up 96% of a lettuce. If I stop and think long and hard about water, what it is, how to describe and understand it, that would keep me in my head as an observer, one who could somehow attempt to measure, analyse, tame and use it for my own good. But I would rather be a participant in its offerings, allowing it to nourish my soul, and in doing so remember and enjoy the sense of belonging and oneness it calls me to.
As I was put the finishing touches on this story I went to the kitchen to fill up the jug for a cuppa. The water literally trickled out of the tap, so I tried the bathroom also, same result. How bizarre! I filled the jug very slowly and considered heading outside to do a bit of private investigation of the potential problem. I probably woulduncover much, I don’t really even know where to start but I am slightly bemused that after writing all about water, I didn’t have any for a while.
Maybe it’s the Cosmos’ way of reminding me also to be grateful, to be resourceful and live sustainably with this elixir of life, Perhaps it is asking for the same kind of care that I offer my garden beds and my free range chicken Sally, and our blackbird family of friends.
It’s in my power, and is also my joy to do it. .