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| Elías Manuel |
The Lagoon
My first memory of the place is being taught to swim. Puddling around with my little brothers, close to shore, wearing life jackets while dragging ourselves along. Finding handholds in the rocky bottom.
The swimming lesson involved my life jacket being removed and then my being set down a little further out in the water. I sank like a stone. Firm hands reached in and pulled me up. “Paddle,” suggested Dad, “Doggie paddle,” and he demonstrated. Still sputtering from the dunking, I tried and sank again. “Faster!” Dad said, making a big show of whirring his cupped hands through the water. It looked silly, but it worked. Soon, I was paddling circles around my brothers, still bottom crawlers in life jackets.
Because two docks protected the lagoon, the water between them froze smooth in winter. We would all troop down single file through the snow, carrying a shovel for Dad, who would use it to clear off the lake. Then we’d strap two-bladed skates on over too-big winter boots and wobble around.
Our parents had real ice skates that laced up past their ankles, and Dad skated beautifully, swinging his arms from side to side. Sometimes humming a tune. Often, we’d “dance” with him by standing on his skates to get spun around in circles until we were too dizzy to stand. Other times, we rode on his back. I don’t remember skating with Mom, although she could because there are pictures.
Afterwards, we all drank from a shared thermos. And hot cocoa never tasted so good.
First publication credit: Soul Poetry, Prose and Arts Magazine
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| Penny Nolte |
Penny Nolte creates gentle narratives of family and place. After a long pause from storytelling her newest work is found in The Avalon Literary Review, Macrame Literary Review, The Writer's Journal, and Dorothy Parker’s Ashes, among others. Originally from upstate New York, with a fortifying decade in Colorado, Penny now calls the Green Mountains of Vermont home.
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