Sink or swim!

On a sticky, hot summer day, probably a 4th of July, the Scott “clan” decided it was high time for a picnic. Brown Springs, the swimming hole to die for, was the best place in the whole wide world to have a picnic. Secluded, soft and spongy green grass, pine trees, and room enough to park the cars around the banks of the clear, icy cold bubbling spring was perfect. You had to get there early to claim your spot for parking or there would be no picnic for you that day. The area was small and very popular with the locals. The spring was about the size of a small house, with a narrow sandy beach and shallow water, and the middle of the spring was an abyss of unknown proportions. The bubbling water kept anyone from actually sinking so the kids were fairly safe.

The “clan” consisted of those family members around at the moment, but on this particular day, it was probably like this: Big Daddy with Big Momma, Aunt ‘Cile, Donnie, Momma and me in Big Daddy’s old ramshackle, black, aged to grey, 1930’s something, four-door car which was boxy and big enough to hold a square dance. Uncle Waitus, Aunt Margie and Gail in their round bubble car. Both cars had a push button starter to crank it, a long stick shift with a round knob, in the floor, and choke knob. You had to be careful not to flood it. If you flooded it, you were in trouble and you would have to wait and wait until it got unflooded before you could try again. Big Momma always had trouble with that. I can see her now, stomping the gas pedal trying to start it just right without flooding it.

Uncle Aubrey usually always had the newest car in the “clan.” Most of the time, it was a white, four-door Ford, that looked sort of like a bubble with a rounded top. But he kept it so clean you could lick the seats. I didn’t get to ride in Uncle Aubrey’s car much, unless Momma had to borrow his car on occasion. He kept his car spotless! Tommie Faye and Buddy would load up with him on this day.

Uncle Waitus and Aunt Margie’s bubble car was newer, but they didn’t mind getting it dirty, and we kids could stand up on the floor in the back and sometimes go splurging on Sundays. That meant going to Quick’s Service Station and getting a Dixie Cup of vanilla or chocolate ice cream with a pull off cardboard tab lid and wooden flat spoon. With them would be Gail, and her Momma, Alice and maybe Pat.

Gail was sort of my cousin. As it turns out, she was as good as any cousin because she lived with my Uncle Waitus and Aunt Margie. That was good enough for me. We had lots of fun together and I spent many a day and night at their house, helping Aunt Margie can pears and peaches, swimming in the #2 washtub in the yard, and running through Uncle Waitus’s turnip patch and bee hives. We all loaded up and head out North in a convoy of bubble cars and a square jalopy of sorts, squealing children in bathing suits, and hot and sweaty adults. I never saw any adults in a bathing suit that I remember. To the contrary, voile dresses, white sandals, corsets, stockings, girdles, or who knows what, was worn to picnics, and any place else, even in the hottest days of a South Georgia summer, by the Scott “clan” women. Uncle Aubrey and Uncle Waitus has a penchant for starched white dress shirts and rolled up the sleeves to mid forearm to give them a casual look, I suppose. Uncle Waitus’s black, lace up ankle boots were shined to perfection, and he wore suspenders for his trousers and socks both. I don’t think he wore his black bow tie to the picnic, however. Uncle Aubrey almost always wore a tie, tucked into his shirt opening between buttons and his trousers hiked up to his chest, complete with an ever-present cigar.

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The cars are unloaded, the watermelons put in the water for cooling, and the doors opened on all cars so the ladies could sit and fan. We kids pile out, strike out for water so cold it took your breath away, splashing and pushing each other into the clear, freezing water. We are allowed to stay in the water until our lips turn blue.

Being the little girl, whose momma wasn’t a fan of water, I never was taught to swim. I had been led to believe by the powers that be, that a teaspoon of water could drown me. Momma shrieked for help every time I got in water more than ankle deep, so I was more than cautious for fear of getting in the deep part where the hole was. Uncle Waitus, being the jolly, and mischievous man that he was, came around one day and picked me up in his arms. He gingerly walked around to the other side of the springs and threw my flailing arms and legs into that spring as close to the center as he could get me. “Now, LaRose, you can swim!” Yep, I could swim alright. I was practically walking on water by the time I got out of that hole, laughing, crying and screaming every inch of the way. But in my desperation to survive, I had actually taken some strokes to glide me out of the mess I was in. I’ve never forgotten how to do that.

By this time, all of us in the water had turned seriously blue, and the activity had us starving! The picnic was spread, watermelon cut, tea poured, and we ate our fill of fried chicken, potato salad, cakes, fried pies, and some of Aunt Margie’s emerald green and ruby red canned pears and peach pickles.

After waiting the allotted time before getting a promised cramp, we were allowed back in the spring for more fun and frolicking on that summer day. It was late in the afternoon before we gathered up towels, food, drinks, and toys to make the trip back home, happy and exhausted.

Picnics during war times were few and far between for many. Many food staples were rationed with stamps and many families, including our own, had loved ones in harm’s way. But the Scott “clan” is thankful for the memories of Brown Springs and for the family that was able to enjoy and share good times for a summer picnic making memories that have lasted a lifetime. We are blessed!

Brown Springs is located on private property and isn’t even on a map today and most people have never heard of it. It is located north of Swainsboro near Coleman’s Lake and Midville. Comments can be made to [email protected]. I love hearing from you!