When I was in grade school, my dad bought a 28 ft boat and had it docked on Lake Michigan. We lived two hours away, and on weekends we’d drive up and sleep on the boat. In spite of the extreme sea sickness I’d get from spending the day slowly trolling on the lake while we fished, I loved those weekends. When we weren’t out on the lake, my brother and I had the run of the docks. We loved the geese and swans, the soda machines in the office, and the fish-gutting area. When we weren’t fishing, we’d jump off the boat and swim in water that was 80 feet deep, or deeper. Sometimes my dad would tie an innertube to the back of the boat, and pull us on it. When he wasn’t trolling for fish and drove the boat fast, bumping over the waves, my brother and I would hold on for dear life and love every minute of it. We’d play on the dunes or go to a nearby zoo. The fish my dad caught were huge, and there are so many pictures of my brother, who was 7 or 8, holding up a fish that was bigger than him. We did this for a few years, and then my dad started to lose interest and sold the boat.
By that time, however, we’d moved out to the country and had a pond of our own. It covered half an acre, was about 10 feet deep in the middle, and had a small island. It was stocked with bluegill, bass, and catfish. We moved to that house when I was 12, and the pond was our biggest plaything. My friends and I would go swimming in the summer, and ice skating in the winter. We fished a lot, and had a little rowboat to take out onto the water. We caught frogs, and each spring collected frog eggs to see them hatch and raise the little tadpoles. I used my microscope to study samples of the pond water. Each spring, a pair of geese would build a nest on the island and we’d watch the babies grow up and learn to fly. When my dad sold the house several years ago, I was so sad even though I’d been living in another state for a few years.