julierichmond

We moved to our tiny town just outside of Boston mostly because of the community pool. We were driving around aimlessly- Katy was about six months, Colin three- killing time until we could put the kids down for a nap, or waiting for them to fall asleep in the car.

On the left, I spied a huge, bright blue, inground pool, surrounded by pine trees, down a small hill. My husband turned into the parking lot; he and I both got out of the car and looked down. The pool was about the size of a high school gym. There was a dock on one end, lap lanes at the other, and a large c shape of shallow water on the other side of what looked like the deep end.

Kids were jumping off the dock, families were sprawled on blankets and beach chairs. All around the edges, people of all ages and sizes were dangling their feet into the blue.

At the time, we were living in Dorchester, which is right on the harbor, but being so close to the city, it wasn’t really sandcastle central then, and low tide on the local spot smelled more like dead fish than suntan lotion and salt air.

It seemed like an oasis, in the middle of summer, with two sweaty small children that started crying as soon as we hopped out of the car. I sent Sheldon down to check if we needed a membership, or could just purchase a day pass.

He came back, looking sweatier for climbing the hill and knowing he was going to disappoint me- “the pool is only for Milton residents”.

And so we moved to Milton.

When Colin was four and Katy was two, we’d stuff them into their swimsuits, and bring them over to Cunningham every day, from late June until mid August, when the lifeguards went back to college, and the pool closed for the season. By mid August, in New England, night starts to fall by seven, when the pool hours end and the air feels like September, sweater weather.

Once, Colin was bit by a snake in the creek on the other side of the fence. The police officer who was summoned by a lifeguard said it looked like the snake had peed on his arm. He whispered this to me, out of Colin’s earshot.

Katy found a frog under the dock once. It took six lifeguards, with a circle of fifty wondrous children watching, to pry the shiny, green critter from under the wooden slats. I’m sure it was a very exciting day in his frog life.

My memories of Cunningham with the kids are brief; they only came along about five summers before declaring “babies pee in that pool, it’s grooosssss!”

I never stopped. For years, the first day it opens, I’m waiting at the gate for the evening swim, starts at five pm and lasts until seven. I bring a book, a water bottle, a large fluffy towel, and my favorite swim goggles.

I go to same spot, all the way down at the end, on the side with the showers, to a bench right next to a lifeguard chair. I drop my bag, peel off my dress, and put my sandals on top of my stuff. I put my goggles on, adjust the straps, and walk down to the stairs, where I step in, stair by stair, until I’m ready to dive under the ropes, and swim in the lap lane.

Sometimes it’s empty. Sometimes I have to pause for kids playing tag, or chasing a tennis ball. Some people like to walk back and forth, or use kickboards.

I like it best when I have a whole lane to myself. My favorite stroke, most nights, is backstroke, and I don’t want to hit anyone. Quite often, I get distracted, and my fingers slam into the edge of the pool. But it’s lovely to stroll in water, floating, watching the clouds, listening to kids, and parents, the slap of the edge of my hand through the water, the sound of my breath.

As I write this, there is a blizzard outside. There is an ice storm in South Carolina and an ICE storm in Minnesota that’s coming to Maine.

I wish I was at Cunningham Pool, and it was the beginning of June, and the light would stay until long after seven. I wish it was hot as hell, and I was cool inside the blue, and contented.

But I’m on the sofa, with dogs and pieces of the Sunday Globe. Our pellet stove is full, and there is an extra bag by the desk. The fridge is stocked with apples and cheese, chicken thighs and a slab of beef for the slow cooker. There is a bottle of good wine on the counter, and the corkscrew is next to it, in case we lose power, and I want to get tipsy and fall asleep right after dinner.

Cunningham and summertime will be here soon enough. Life is too short to fast forward through the chilly patches.