Summer 1954, I was six going on seven, as children are eager to point out.  My older brother who was eight and I were part of a family in flux.  My mother was away, working in a “Navy Town”, trying to drum up a step-dad for us.  My Grandfather, and live in housekeeper Mrs. Hall, were doing their best to keep us occupied and out of the way, as my Grandmother was dying of cancer. Things were going bad, but at that age I didn’t fully understand.  It was decided that we were to stay with a spinster sister of my Grandfather's for a few days, our Aunt Jenny.

     Aunt Jenny lived in an old homestead that had not much changed in her fifty years of occupation.  It was out in western Coventry, a then sparsely populated section of Rhode Island that still held as many unpaved roads as any part of the state.  Describing her home as rustic would be a kindness.  There was an outside toilet with chamber pots for the night and a hand pump to a dug well in the kitchen.  The only “modern” convenience was a very basic electrical lighting system.

     Having two lively boys in her home must have been quite a shock for her, but she did her best to take our minds away from what was a strained situation.  She took us out on our first morning to a low hillside behind her house, bristling with low bush blueberries.  Even while eating our fill we gathered enough for a special treat that evening for desert – blueberry dumplings!  I can’t remember having anything quite like it before or afterwards.  They were light balls of pastry with the consistency of fluffy biscuits inside, bursting with blueberries and swimming in a sweet creamy sauce.  She ladled out generous dollops that drew one instantly into taste bud heaven. Oh my!

     Saturday night came; bath night in our family.  Tradition!  It struck us that not having an indoor toilet presented us with somewhat of a problem.  Not deterred, Aunt Jenny gathered up the bar of Ivory soap (“99.9% pure – it floats”), and with towels in hand bid us to follow.  We did, somewhat doubtfully.  In the gathering twilight she led us outdoors. Down a small path we went, to a small brook that flowed, burbling and meandering, through the low brush that grew on either side.  Next to the lightly used gravel road that had brought us to her house, was a deep gravely pool, just downstream of the culvert from under the road.  There were spiders! Spiders were walking on the water, along with strange flat looking bugs making mad circles on the slow moving surface.  I was instantly repulsed.  “Take off your clothes”. The horrible truth now dawned on me.  She intended that we were to bathe here.

     Other than the shock, memory is proving hazy here.  I suppose my mind is hiding the humiliation of it all.  Getting naked in front of a somewhat unfamiliar female, bathing in a pool of spiders and bugs – mercy.  Surviving the trauma apparently, I remember, with still damp hair, being tucked into my bed.  The slightly stiff sheets and light blanket pulled up under my chin and a kiss planted on my forehead.  To the sound of crickets chirping, I drift off to sleep, strangely secure.