Which way to the river?

We spent many carefree summer hours in the old swimming hole. Sometimes it was just the kids and sometimes Mom and Dad would join us in the evening when the chores were all done. I remember one rather embarrassing experience with my mom and my sister Denise.

Contrary to my belief as a kid, the river was not private property and occasionally a sportsman would ask permission to access the river from our property. Early on, we had trappers who set traps along its banks in hopes of catching the diminishing beavers and muskrats and bobcats. It wasn't long before the river wildlife was all gone and only the fishermen came. I remember one black fellow who came by. On his first visit he introduced himself (I don't remember his name) and asked "which way to the river?" We of course showed him and he went fishing that day and a few times later.

One warm summer day in the middle of the afternoon, Mom, Denise and I were possibly on an outing to find berries that grew along the river banks. As we passed by the old swimming hole, someone suggested a dip in the river to cool off. We all agreed. We were quite confident that we had privacy that particular day, so we slipped off our shoes, shirts and pants and slid into the water. We had not been in the river long when we heard a greeting from the bank above us. You guessed it. We were a bit startled to see our fisherman friend who had chosen that particular day to fish in "our river". He stood there for a spell, passing time in pleasant conversation, hopefully unaware of our discomfort as we treaded water and smiled and nodded in response. Thinking back, I am glad that it was not what you would call a clean river. The water was always a little mirky. By and by, our visitor said good bye and headed up the river to find a place to fish. Giggling with relief, we were soon able to get out of the river, put on our clothes and get home.