Mr. Bush had been complaining to Daddy about the cows get'in in his garden. It was serious stuff when someone's cows messed up a man's garden. No fishing this afternoon; it's time to fix fences again.

By the time we finished put'in up a new section of fence along the garden at Mr. Bush's house, the afternoon was gone and it was too late to go fishing. But, it wasn't too late to take a quick dip in the clay hole.

After taking the tractor and trailer back to the barn. I unload the tools and put them back in the shed while Willie catches and bridles the horse. We head to the Jim Boyd clay hole which was about three-quarter of a mile away. Jim Boyd and his family lived just across the road from this particular clay hole, so that's what we called it………the Jim Boyd clay hole. Willie was Jim's boy and he could just walk up the hill to his house when we finished our swim. I'd take the horse back to the barn which was behind my house.

Swim'in in the clay hole was a regular activity. There were no air conditioners around Myrick's Mill in the 1950's. Swim'in holes were as much necessity as a bucket of smoldering rags on an open porch to keep the mosquitoes away. For those unfamiliar, clay holes were the open pits left after surface mining for kaolin was completed. Natural springs filled the abandoned mine pits with clean, clear, cool water.

Clay holes could present some dangers for those unfamiliar but, swim 'in was relatively safe for those who knew the water and didn't take foolish chances of trying to swim across one. Distances across water are usually much further than they appear and we knew it. We had seen several people drown in the clay holes and heard the stories of how someone tried to swim across, only to give out of breath about half way across………….then disappear from sight.

We also witnessed dragging for victims after a drowning. A dragging devise consisted of a big and heavy metal treble-hook attached to the end of a long rope. Two men working a boat and motor drug the hook over the bottom of the clay hole for as long as it took to snag the body and pull it to shore. In this case, it took about an hour and a half. Witnessing the execution of a dragging in the presence of a victim's family may be cruel but it sure is an effective teacher. It probably saved the lives of some of us who watched this sad scene and learned that taking big risk aren't worth the glory of small successes.

We stuck to diving off the banks into really deep water so that our head never came close to the bottom plus swim'in close to the shore. We usually had an old inner tube close by, too, maybe a couple of them floating in the water nearby. Most of the clay holes were 10 to 40 feet deep. They were definitely swim'in holes, not wad'in pools. It was important to either learn to swim or stay on the bank; there were no safe choices in between.

Baconsfield pool was the big public pool in Macon that Daddy and I occasionally went to on Sunday afternoon. Although Daddy enjoyed going, I didn't care much for the place. You had to wear a bathing suit; there were too many people jump' in and swim' in all over each other, and the water smelled like a bottle of Clorox.

There were also a lot of rules posted at the Baconsfield pool. One of the posted rules said "white only". The year was 1956. We never gave it much thought. Reflecting on those days strikes a strange irony? Willie and I grew up together, worked together, played together and went swim'in in the clay hole together. We never gave it much thought. Both of us would have thought it mighty strange…………… the suggestion that we should swim in separate clay holes. Growing up at Myrick's Mill……………no one ever did.

©2003 - William C. Humphries, Jr.