It was one of the best days of my life. I was eleven years old. It was summer. We were camping on the river. It was July. It was hot and humid. It had been hours since lunch. We were rapturous in our childhood joy. Laughing and fighting. Chasing each other into the water. One of us would stand solemnly in the current while another raised their hand and said, “I baptize this my sister in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” Down would go the convert, and the preacher’s hand would hold them under till they bubbled. The splash wars were fast and furious. The big rock near the edge was where we would drag our tired bodies for a few moments rest. We picked up flat stones, and skipped them across the water’s surface. My brothers, my cousins, and I were never happier than when we were camping on the river.

I waded through the water to the river’s edge. The muscles in my legs were tired. The river water beaded on my legs, and ran down to make tiny rivers in the sand. I tugged the seat of my bathing suit down, and gingerly stepped my way across the river rocks. For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, I walked to the tree that hung over the river’s edge.

This part of the river was out of the main channel. It was quite deep, and made a perfect swimming hole. The tree that shadowed the hole proclaimed it’s purpose, and someone did the only thing fitting. They tied a thick rope from the sturdy limb overhanging the water, and tied six or seven knots at even intervals along the bottom section of the rope. This beloved tree had a fork in it about three feet from the ground. Three medium sized river rocks were wedged into the fork, making a wobbly ladder of sorts.

Holding onto the rope, I put one bare foot on the trunk of the tree, and pulled myself up to place my other foot on the bottom rock. As the rock wobbled, I balanced my weight, and stepped up to the second rock. It rotated a few inches, and I quickly stepped to the top rock. It was wedged more securely. With one foot on the top rock, I put my other foot against the tree trunk, took a deep breath, pushed off the tree, and swung out in a graceful arc. At the height of my swing, I let go over the deepest part of the pool. As the cool green water covered my head, I sunk to the bottom. My feet touched the rocky river bed, I bent my knees, and pushed off…my outstretched arms reaching for the sunlight. My head broke the surface, and I gasped for air. I kicked my legs, and pushed the curtain of brown hair from my eyes. Leaning my head back, I let the water pull my bangs back from my face. I swam toward the shore, pulled myself onto a submerged rock, and sat chest deep in the river.

Summer, when you’re eleven, is heaven on earth.