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the summer i went Swimming BY BETHANY LEE
Help save the monarchs! Majestic monarch butterflies are a delight for kids and adults alike. And their life cycle is a fascinating sciencein-action experience many of us grew up with. Now, however, their numbers are in serious peril – down 90 per cent in the past three decades, according to Save Our Monarchs. Milkweed, the caterpillars’ only source of food, is also down 90 per cent due to chemical spraying and habitat loss. You can help by planting the ethereal, silky-stranded milkweed seeds. Locally, you can order them free from the Escarpment Biosphere Conservancy; you’ll receive about 30 seeds and instructions. Or you can order mixed pollinator seeds via the Save Our Monarchs website. One ounce covers about 1,000 square feet with milkweed and other pollinator-friendly plants. www.escarpment.ca www.saveourmonarchs.org
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ILLUS TR ATION BY SHEL AGH ARMS TRONG
know for sure that summer is here when I hear the exuberant splash of babies in water wings, the echoes of kids’ laughter as they play games in a backyard pool, or the quiet swish of a perfect dive on a cool morning.
Growing up, I was terrified of water and swimming. I lived on a farm, far from swimming lessons or a public pool in town. It wasn’t until I moved to a small village called Kilbride, south of Campbellville, Ontario, that I was invited to swim with other kids in a wobbly, aboveground pool. Over I went through the backyard brambles, with bathing suit on and towel in hand. I stood outside the structure, looking up at the bulging walls, trying to figure out the next step. “Come in, the ladder is on the other side!” the older kids beckoned. “I don’t know how…” I said. I was about seven years old, and I was sweaty, scared and out of my comfort zone. “Use the ladder!” they screeched. “I don’t know how to swim,” I said quietly. One of the nice girls came to the ladder and helped me in. The water was cool and silky on my skin. If you haven’t swum before, it’s a wonderful weightless feeling, at first both scary and mystifying. You can feel your body all over but feel nothing at the same time. My nose went up and down against the surface while I found my feet somewhere below. At first, I just did a bit of bobbing, stepping around gingerly. I watched nervously as the kids splashed and whipped each other with a pool
toy. I coughed out a little water. I wasn’t sure I liked this and thought about how to get out. A boy slowly walked toward me, his eyes just above the water, like a water snake. “Come on, kid. I’ve got you,” he grinned, then he reached down to grab my leg, pulling it from under me. I instantly went under. “Swim!” he said, laughing. I came up, gasping. “Look, you’re a fish. Swim!” he chortled, his rough hand grabbing my ankle this time. “I caught a fish, I caught a fish!” he exclaimed, dunking me again. I could see bubbles and colours beneath the surface, until I filled with water and came up coughing for real. I somehow got out and made my way home. Swim ming wasn’t for me. Years later, a lovely friend of my parents, Sue, had my mom and me over for lunch. My mom packed me a swimsuit. When we arrived, my eyes welled at the sight of a very large rectangle of water. Sue saw my fright, and without hesitation, gathered up my growing body and let me cling to her in the water until I felt safe to let go. She showed me how to kick where the deep end started; how to get to the edge and shimmy back to the ladder. She showed me how to float on my back, and I saw the glory of the sky above me and finally felt the quiet
