I love water. Lakes, rivers and oceans are nice on the eyes but I like to be in the source. But in my disabled state, it can be difficult to get to the edge. Jumping off a dock is pretty straight forward and I can even dive if I know the area well (like my buddy Brian's beach near Angle Point on Flathead.) But during the week I have ventured out, in search of new waters I can go to alone.
I grew up here and lived just past Somers on Juniper Bay Road. And because I didn't even have to leave home, for a quick dip, I am not familiar with other swimming holes. Familiarity breeds confidence so I started in Somers, the public beach where I kayaked with a friend. We pulled the boats into the water there so I was pretty certain I could manage.
I parked in the handicapped space near the main beach and unloaded my walker. The main beach was crowded with moms and kids and there was no shade so I continued to look for a spot. I spied a shaded, small, level beach, tucked among some tall shrubs shading the over-warm sunshine. The only problem was that I would have to make my way down a semi-steep, but short, rocky hill.
I parked in the handicapped space near the main beach and unloaded my walker. The main beach was crowded with moms and kids and there was no shade so I continued to look for a spot. I spied a shaded, small, level beach, tucked among some tall shrubs shading the over-warm sunshine. The only problem was that I would have to make my way down a semi-steep, but short, rocky hill.
My trusty walker would stabilize me, I was sure, and I reached my destination. The water gave me a chill as I entered but I knew from experience to keep going because I would be use to it within seconds. Flathead soon held me in her arms, rocking me gently as I floated on my back. I was careful to stay close to shore because my disability has made me, swimming, a not-so-pretty site. I can float, tread water and dog paddle but I would not describe it as swimming.
Soon after I arrived, an older woman arrived showed up her grandsons. She approached my inadequate piece of shade from the opposite side and planted her chair near my walker as the boys splashed into the calm water. We chit chatted about her grandchildren and her son who lived in Somers. She was in town to help him as he recovered from an injury, but lived in one of the Carolinas.
I could tell she was looking at my walker so pointing to the rocky incline, I said with a chuckle, "I sure hope I can make it back up." Her reply came quickly, "Don't worry, I'll help." I appreciated her comment but sometimes helping me can make it even more difficult.
I continued to flounder along the shore as I enjoyed watching her two young boys play. She pointed out the different ways they approached water; one was fearless, splashing and swimming far from shore and the other boy showed much less enthusiasm and more caution. It was easy to see that both were enjoying themselves, though. The scene reminded me of the many hours we spent in the water each summer; my brothers, sisters and other lake kids.
When I decided it was time to leave, I emerged from the water, hung a towel around my neck and packed up. I balanced my bag on the walker's seat and started up the slope. Two steps into my journey, it slid off the seat, and fell to the ground. As it's entire load scattered, I stopped to consider my next move. Right then, I felt two palms directly on my butt cheeks and felt a strong push. "Keep it up," the person behind the hands said, and I did. I knew right away it was the women who had said she would help me. When we got to the top of the small rise, she motioned not to retrieve stuff I had spilled. She quickly gathered my things and carried the bag to me.
Of course I thanked her, profusely, for getting me safely up the hill. Driving home, it occurred to me that I had friends that would have done the same thing but the fact she had been a stranger was different. It seems, just as I think the world is going to hell in a handbasket, I am reminded that there are still good people who are willing to do what is needed to solve a problem.
I could tell she was looking at my walker so pointing to the rocky incline, I said with a chuckle, "I sure hope I can make it back up." Her reply came quickly, "Don't worry, I'll help." I appreciated her comment but sometimes helping me can make it even more difficult.
I continued to flounder along the shore as I enjoyed watching her two young boys play. She pointed out the different ways they approached water; one was fearless, splashing and swimming far from shore and the other boy showed much less enthusiasm and more caution. It was easy to see that both were enjoying themselves, though. The scene reminded me of the many hours we spent in the water each summer; my brothers, sisters and other lake kids.
When I decided it was time to leave, I emerged from the water, hung a towel around my neck and packed up. I balanced my bag on the walker's seat and started up the slope. Two steps into my journey, it slid off the seat, and fell to the ground. As it's entire load scattered, I stopped to consider my next move. Right then, I felt two palms directly on my butt cheeks and felt a strong push. "Keep it up," the person behind the hands said, and I did. I knew right away it was the women who had said she would help me. When we got to the top of the small rise, she motioned not to retrieve stuff I had spilled. She quickly gathered my things and carried the bag to me.
Of course I thanked her, profusely, for getting me safely up the hill. Driving home, it occurred to me that I had friends that would have done the same thing but the fact she had been a stranger was different. It seems, just as I think the world is going to hell in a handbasket, I am reminded that there are still good people who are willing to do what is needed to solve a problem.
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