They called it The Nip. A small pond, as it was described to me by my old friend. Playmate really, since we were children when we last saw each other. Until a year ago when a Facebook fluke reconnected us. We took a ride to the Nip yesterday and I didn’t think it was so small. He described camping there as a boy. Canoeing and fishing also. There was a little beach too, but it was barely there yesterday. Someone had left a chair at the edge of the water, and they had a campfire set up and ready to go too. And there is an island out in the water also. Of course there is, what a perfect setting for childhood adventures. “Shh”, he said, but there may or may not be several beloved dogs buried on that island, but you didn’t hear that from me.
I moved away from the neighborhood we shared during the summer that I turned nine years old, so the memories made in that neighborhood stood alone to me. Wonderful memories of all the fun that we had. People our age know exactly what I’m talking about. But now I’m getting to hear about how the adventures continued on without me. I’m still seriously annoyed that I didn’t get to ride an inner tube for miles down the river, but I also missed the having to trudge those same miles carrying the inner tube home part. Maybe I left at the perfect time. Soon enough it wouldn’t have been appropriate for me to be tagging along on the adventures he was having. But it sure was fun while it lasted…
He made sure I saw this before we decided we’d had enough of the cold. This was taken right there by the little beach. Mr. Darling was the principal of our elementary school when we went there, and to find that he was buried there was a surprise, to me at least. Apparently the fact that kids were out in nature and having adventures didn’t start with us…
A Snowbird's Life Through the Lens 