At the end of each summer, usually the weekend after Labor Day, my family went to a campground hosting a square dance jamboree. The barn was loaded with urban cowboys and cowgirls. The. older kids were farmed out to babysit the younger kids. I'm not sure where my sisters were. they might have been dancing. I was probably four on this particular trip. The daughter of a backyard neighbor babysat me.
At the time, this campground had no lake. It was in the process of digging a swimming hole. I think the plan was to either truck water, hit a spring, or let snow collect into it over the winter and fill the hole when it melted the way the Great Lakes formed during the last ice age or even longer ago than that.
There were huge piles of stones, at least to a toddler. A bunch of us kids started throwing stones back into the pit trying to fill it with rocks, which was about as likely as melting to snow to fill it. The plan fizzled within minutes.
I do remember the dance caller was a guy named Jerry. I thought he was hilarious. HE was younger than the parents who were doing the dancing. I remember Jerry stopped by our trailer on his way to call the dances. He asked me if I had anything to tell my parents. I told him, 'Yeah. Tell them I pooped my pants just now."
Jerry told them from the stage.
Rock is a great master of life. It teaches us this simple philosophy: Stay firm!
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