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I remember the cabin by the lake in the wood
and Grandma giving us buckets, telling us we should
walk up the creek to get some water from the stream.
Remembering it now is almost like a dream.

No electricity, no plumbing, no water at hand
but we thought it the prettiest place in the land.
In spring we got water not far from the door.
As summer progressed we had to walk a little more.

By August the spring barely flowed at all
so we'd follow the stream, though we were quite small.
Alone in the woods with a bucket each,
following that creek 'til a pool we'd reach.

Filling the buckets, then back down the hill.
This was our chore, I remember it still.
We'd pick wild flowers and try to catch frogs,
taking too long as we walked along logs.

Every morning two buckets of water we brought.
These were for drinking, lake water was not.
Lake water was boiled and used for cleaning up.
The only one who drank it was the cocker spaniel pup.

The stream was the run-off from melted snow.
Down the mountain it ran, to the lake below.
Fast and furious , the winter through
but gentle and quiet by summer it grew.

The cabins at the lake are updated now
with electricity and plumbing but I remember how
two eight year old girls went for water each day.
Their chore done before they headed off to play. 




~~~Francine Roberts~~~
        04/06/2011

for Constance's 'Write Me a rippling Stream'
         contest

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