Healing Waters

I was a fool to think I would avoid it altogether. Each time, after the bottle of wine was drunk, the long talk had quieted, and a soak in the bath had gone cold, the decision to move had been thwarted. It was my husband’s company that was suggesting we move. It was I who was suggesting we stay put. This tug-o-war had been going on for a decade but the company’s tug was gaining strength with every year.

“Fine,” I finally had to relent over the phone, long-distance. My husband had been summoned South and offered a job better than the rest. He felt we should move. “But I want a pool in the backyard.” I had to show that I wasn’t going without conditions. He felt that my demand was fair and accepted the position. Three months later our two sons and I joined him. Three months and three days later we were swimming together in our very own backyard pool.

Growing up in the North where snow falls more days than it doesn’t, swimming outdoors is a joyous and gluttonous activity. Outdoor-swimming days are so rare that long line-ups of swimmers snaking around the community pool; swimmers waiting for other swimmers to leave so they can safely replace them in the warm and suspect water, is a common sight. Equally common is the drive to the mountains to dive in the glacier lakes, freezing, but clear and outdoors. Anything that slightly resembles a swimming hole, no matter how small, how cold, how far or how crowded becomes the summertime destination on a hot day for those of us who live in a mostly cold climate.

So demanding a pool seemed a justifiable condition to move to a place I had avoided for ten years. I had worked hard to avoid the move. I was not opposed to moving in general. I just was opposed to moving There. Of all the places in the world to move, of all the cultures waiting to be experienced, of all the school systems I was willing to subject my children to, There had not made the list. I had hoped a pool would ease the pain.

The first year in our new Southern home was rough. The heat was extreme. The school challenged my fondness for public schools. We found it difficult to make friends. The spiders and snakes frightened us. We had to get used to pesticides being sprayed in and around our home. But despite these setbacks, one thing remained gentle and true to us. Our pool.

When the heat got unbearable, we found refuge in its water. Submerging ourselves for hours beneath its surface, we invented water games and exercise routines to keep us cool and occupied. When the boys were at school and my husband was at work and I found myself struggling with loneliness I swam my negative feelings away. When my sons began to bring friends home they would spend much of their time jumping and screaming and splashing in our pool’s waters.

Since arriving, my sons have got to experience the joy of skinny dipping before they were teens, something I had to wait until I was an adult to do. Something, I had not done at all until just recently when my husband moved me to a city I did not want to go to. The boys easily swim naked by day and I by night comfortably shielded by trees and our home and the fact that we have Our. Very. Own. Pool.

And having our very own pool gave way to my first all-over tan since I was a teen. As an active woman and a mom being in the sun is unavoidable but the difference between being in the sun in the North and in the South is the Farmer’s Tan.

In the North, wearing a bathing suit is a rare occasion so the only skin that sees the sun regularly is from the knees and elbows down. Having a pool I have a tan up past my knees and even past my shoulders. It’s a simple pleasure having an all-over tan, but it’s a pleasure that makes me content.

But perhaps the most profound moment in our pool happened several days after a category-4 hurricane ripped through our city uprooting trees, tearing rooftops, shattering windows and causing general havoc and disruption to the city and the lives of its inhabitants. After three days of no electricity and water yet hard clean-up efforts, our neighbors gathered around our pool to relax, cool off and cleanse themselves-both spiritually and physically.

I have caught myself on several occasions stopping and watching the happy activity in and around our pool and recognizing that in spite of myself, these scenes of family and friends make me very, very, happy. But even more than the immediate gratification, this relationship with 2100 cubic feet of water will endure the years. For these are scenes unique to this house. These are memories that will not be confused with any other place or time.

And I have realized this truth: When you are cooled from the heat or when you have an outlet to soothe your nerves or if there is a place where laughter constantly flows, your mind is free and your heart more open to opportunities that you wish to remain stubbornly closed to. I know this first hand.

Thanks to the healing waters of our pool I am growing fonder of my new home each day, appreciating the good this Southern city offers our family and swimming away the tensions that it also inevitably still presents us.