Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Saturday, September 7, 2019

Watery Paradise

Paradise flowed right around the main Stringam Ranch buildings.

Siblings with cousins.
To the adult residents of the ranch, it was the South Fork of the Milk River.
To us, it was a muddy, murky playground. Our entertainment. Our recreation. Our playmate.
It provided a solid skating surface in the winter and a wonderful swimming pool in summer.
In spring through fall, it was an endless source of educational fun as we hunted snakes and frogs. Tried to trap unwary fish. And generally made life miserable for any denizen so unfortunate as to capture our attention.
I learned to skate there. What is that little dictum that states that the hardest part about learning to skate is the ice?
That would apply to me.
But I digress . . .
I learned to swim there.
And I wish I could swim there, still.
On a hot summer afternoon, my siblings and I would invariably be found in the milky depths of our river.
I can remember exactly how the water looked - billions of grains of fine sand hanging suspended as the rays of sunlight shone through it.
I can remember how it smelled. Wet mud and fresh water and things growing.
And I can remember how it felt. Cool and soft as it slid across one's nearly naked little body.
The current was slow and sluggish, but still strong enough to prove a challenge when swimming against it. In fact, only my eldest brother, Jerry could make any headway. The rest of us tried manfully, or girlfully (is that a word?) to keep up.
We couldn't.
But we did flail with purpose and finally, I was able to at least hold my position.
It was a time of peace. When one's siblings were truly one's best friends. We watched over each other, fishing the smaller siblings out if they got in over their heads and keeping our St. Bernard, Mike from drowning anyone as he tried desperately to save them.
From time to time, the chief lifeguard, Mom, would appear at the top of the cliff beside the house and survey the area, counting heads and noting the general state of her six offspring. Then she would wave and disappear.
And we would go back to whatever she had interrupted.
It was a blissful way to spend the summer.
Sure, there were chores that had to be done. Acres of garden to hoe. Cattle to drive. Calves to brand. Feeding. Milking. Haying. Fencing. Mowing. Harvesting.
But for those few hours every afternoon, we had no duties. No pressures.
Just Chris' radio blaring out whatever was considered the day's top hits. The soft sand. The sunlight on the milky water.
And each other.
We were right.
It was paradise.

10 comments:

  1. You were indeed right.
    The very best type of paradise, and one I would love to revisit.

    ReplyDelete
  2. It's amazing how careful we became as parents compared to how carefree we were as kids. No life jackets, car seats, swimming without constant supervision and we stayed out until it got dark. But, somehow we survived.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Oh, the wonderful memories.

    It would be lovely if you could find a way to go swim there one more time now.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I was so tempted when we went back for a visit. Alas, someone forgot their swimsuit...

      Delete
  4. I have similar blissful memories of the beach I practically lived at each summer, just a few minutes walk from our house, and we'd sometimes stay long after sundown, when other families would go home.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oddly enough, I never worried about too much sunshine, either. And I only remember one sunburn...

      Delete
  5. We are the lucky ones with wonderful childhood memories, whatever they may be. I wish all kids could have that.

    ReplyDelete

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