Swimming in Sunlight — Cheese Dreams in the Shade

In early morning, Nana’s pool is bathed in beautiful sunlight. Sitting center stage in the expansive yard, slightly raised, this most private of pools waits for us to splash through its still surface. Without the slightest hesitation, we are in, laughing and splashing, swimming from the stairs to the deep end. We show off new strokes and our ability to swim underwater, go deep, hold our breath. We swim and swim and swim.

Hunger is what breaks us. We do not want to leave the pool, but we do so because Nana is serving lunch and we must not be late. The smell of Nana’s cheese dreams pulls us to the picnic table on the patio. The moss-covered red bricks are cool and slippery beneath our wet feet. We navigate our way and find spots at the worn and welcoming table. Nana makes her entrance with the cheese dreams. They are open faced squares: perfectly toasted bread, gooey cheese, crisp bacon. Heaven in a bite. We are ravenous but are reminded of our manners. We eat in the shade of the tall pine trees, the dampness of our swimsuits seeping in as we satisfy our hunger.

After our delicious lunch there is the dreaded wait before we can swim again. Was is forty-five minutes or an hour? Mom and Nana agreed on this rule and the wait seemed an eternity. My brothers do something together, maybe throw a ball or race. I wander off, but I am not lonely or for that matter alone. I visit the crooked bird bath and see a Robin. There are bees buzzing near the grape arbor and butterflies dance in and out of my view. They guide me to my favorite place on this old farmhouse land, the hydrangeas. Their brilliant shades of blue compliment the lemon-yellow sun. I dilly dally and smile, and without focusing on the task, I digest my cheese dreams. When I round the bend on the long, gravel driveway, I see my mother returning to her lifeguarding post and my brothers clamoring for first entry to the pool.

I knew then what I know now, this farmhouse and its expansive property was a constant wonder, a gift reopened each visit, an education in simple joys.