I do not remember how old I was when I spent almost an entire Easter Vacation pitching rocks in the pond. “The Pond” was part of “The Field” that was an undeveloped section of the block where I grew up. Granny told me that the gypsies used to camp there because of the fresh water.
“The Pond” only formed after seriously heavy rain and that Spring conditions were perfect to fill the entire area from back by the trees to over by the deep part by the highway. Gloriously, I had nothing to do that week off from school so I watched some TV in the morning and then went outside to the pond. There were no adults and no rules so if I wanted to throw rocks into the water all afternoon for many days in a row, I was free to do that.
There was something deeply satisfying about analyzing the amount and quality of splash based on the size and form of the selected rock. Other aspects of rock throwing for the most dramatic splash were heft, spring, and angle of the pitch. Some rocks were really heavy and had to be pushed into the air in the direction of the water and some were more manageable and could be manipulated into the air a certain way.
Selection of rocks was a biggie as well as the decisions to bring back the large, bulky rectangular mass or abandon it for the weird slab that seemed like a byproduct of a roadway bed. Was the effort to haul it back to the pitching site worth it?
The pitching site changed based on the rock sizes as it was impossible to get any kind of worthwhile splash out of a huge rock from the vantage point above the cave. “The Cave” acquired a title after Jimmy worked his damnedest to dig a cave in the headland and it collapsed on top of him one day (with a little help.) I just knew that this was one of the dumbest ideas to come down the pike, so I hastened its demise before I was invited into it. No way was I going into this hacked out section of earth and feel peace. It was going to collapse and it wasn’t going to collapse on me, so I made it collapse on him.
Anyway, the rock pitching point changed based on both whim and results from previously thrown rocks. One kind of rock would land in the weedy, twiggy part of the pond with a ker-thunk because it was not very deep there. But if I changed over to the highway side (the pond in the field backed up to Highway 39) I could pick out the deeper part of the pond and practically drop the rocks into that part. Ker-plush! Ahhh, let me try that again.
It was a week of experimentation and analyzation of results. I remember that it was a wonder to me that I wasn’t bored because there was always another rock, always another vantage point. And no one told me a thing. Oh the freedom! Oh the joy! Doing what I want! For as long as I want to do it!
