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Fish Stories
Jul. 31st, 2006 10:34 pmBrowsing flists, I stumbled upon someone posting about visiting a small lake near Peekskill, which immediately caught my attention. Sadly, the lake was not further identified, but the story reminded me of life on the lake.
Although I was born in New York City (address NY, NY, which was a habit very difficult to break in my early years), we moved out of the city in the late '60s. Essentially, when Co-Op City opened, whereupon the entire North Bronx moved en masse into those massive buildings, allowing the South Bronx to move North.
We'd been in the country for the summer, at my grandparents' old summer house. They had already built their new house on the lake (more of this later), and we now had the house to ourselves. It was a tiny house, basically one bedroom and a screened-in porch. No central heat or air (this was ages before such luxuries were available, children); a single fireplace that provided all our warmth that first winter, a galley kitchen, and a single bathroom with a clawfoot bathtub and taps that ran rusty water when first turned on. The basement was accessed by walking outside around the house, and under the porch; it had a dirt floor and at least one resident corn snake (harmless to humans). The back yard had many bushes and trees, including a 70+ foot tall cherry tree.
That house served the four of us well enough until the new house was built, just 100 or so yards up the hill from my grandfolks' place.
We weren't on the lake side of the road though, so we had to go down to their house and jump off their dock. That was fine; they had about a 100 foot shoreline of rocky coast, fairly shallow along the edge but it got deep quickly.
In the shallows -- we come to the fish part now! -- it was a sandy mixture with large rocks and small boulders, covered in algae, in between the sandy spots. You could look into the water and see clear bottom areas, rather circular, interspersed irregularly along the shallow areas.
These were fish nests, beloved, and were maintained by the fish during their breeding and growing season, which coincided with our swimming season. As long as you didn't step too close to the nests, the fish would leave you alone. Most of the time.
However, if the fish should think (granting the powers of thinking to a fish is dubious, but let's do it for the sake of the story), if the fish should think you were presenting a potential danger to its babies, it would nibble at your toes.
This is less amusing to actually experience than it sounds. Perceive: there you are, happily cooling off in the water, floating and vaguely using your feet to maneuver around when suddenly [!!!] SOMETHING GRABS YOUR TOE.
We learned how to avoid them, and continued to swim all summer long. The snakes in the water were a different story. [see LJDQ for more on that]
Ah, the lake. Those were the days.
Although I was born in New York City (address NY, NY, which was a habit very difficult to break in my early years), we moved out of the city in the late '60s. Essentially, when Co-Op City opened, whereupon the entire North Bronx moved en masse into those massive buildings, allowing the South Bronx to move North.
We'd been in the country for the summer, at my grandparents' old summer house. They had already built their new house on the lake (more of this later), and we now had the house to ourselves. It was a tiny house, basically one bedroom and a screened-in porch. No central heat or air (this was ages before such luxuries were available, children); a single fireplace that provided all our warmth that first winter, a galley kitchen, and a single bathroom with a clawfoot bathtub and taps that ran rusty water when first turned on. The basement was accessed by walking outside around the house, and under the porch; it had a dirt floor and at least one resident corn snake (harmless to humans). The back yard had many bushes and trees, including a 70+ foot tall cherry tree.
That house served the four of us well enough until the new house was built, just 100 or so yards up the hill from my grandfolks' place.
We weren't on the lake side of the road though, so we had to go down to their house and jump off their dock. That was fine; they had about a 100 foot shoreline of rocky coast, fairly shallow along the edge but it got deep quickly.
In the shallows -- we come to the fish part now! -- it was a sandy mixture with large rocks and small boulders, covered in algae, in between the sandy spots. You could look into the water and see clear bottom areas, rather circular, interspersed irregularly along the shallow areas.
These were fish nests, beloved, and were maintained by the fish during their breeding and growing season, which coincided with our swimming season. As long as you didn't step too close to the nests, the fish would leave you alone. Most of the time.
However, if the fish should think (granting the powers of thinking to a fish is dubious, but let's do it for the sake of the story), if the fish should think you were presenting a potential danger to its babies, it would nibble at your toes.
This is less amusing to actually experience than it sounds. Perceive: there you are, happily cooling off in the water, floating and vaguely using your feet to maneuver around when suddenly [!!!] SOMETHING GRABS YOUR TOE.
We learned how to avoid them, and continued to swim all summer long. The snakes in the water were a different story. [see LJDQ for more on that]
Ah, the lake. Those were the days.
