Water and Air: A Day Swimming in Barton Springs
April 28, 2011 13 Comments
Last Saturday I drove three and a half hours from Dallas to Austin with the express purpose of swimming in the cool waters of Barton Springs. I swam for about an hour in the morning, then lay in the shade of sprawling oak trees on the hillside above the pool. The smell of cedar, the splashing of swimmers, the regular rattle of the diving board as one kid after another leapt skyward and belly flopped into the turquoise water—all of it, every sound, every sensation massaged my troubled mind and smoothed out the kinks left there by working and living.
For two hours I lay on that hillside. I slept. I woke. I listened to grackles posing their long drawn-out question, “Huuuuuuuuh? Huuuuuuuuuh? Huuuuuuuuuh?” with the persistence of small children. I laughed at squirrels scampering up and down tree trunks in a game of hide-and-go-seek that to them may not have been a game. When I grew hungry I walked a half mile to the Green Mesquite and gorged myself on beef brisket, turkey, chicken, rice and pinto beans, all drenched in barbecue sauce. For dessert, I savored peach cobbler in the smallest bites possible.
After strolling around the hundreds of acres of parkland that surround the springs, I returned to the pool around 7pm and swam in the soft glow of dusk. The pool gradually emptied of people. At 8pm the life guards blew their whistles to announce that they were retiring and that those of us still in the water were on our own. I floated in deepening darkness. I heard other swimmers splashing and laughing occasionally, but for long stretches I felt I had the spring and the trees, and even the glowing sky, all to myself; that I existed in a world half water, half air, where all I knew was the sound of the wind jostling the now-invisible trees hanging over me and the leaves answering the wind with a million tiny claps that sounded like rain droplets tapping the ground, where I could hear gentle waves lapping against the concrete edge of the pool, producing a sound like that of a dripping faucet, with the drops alternating from high pitch to low pitch: drip, drop, drip, drop.
I straddled these two worlds, above and below the water. I was immersed in them both, one cold, one warm, and I felt them both at the same time. At once I felt warm and cozy yet cool and refreshed. And for an entire day I thought about nothing but green St. Augustine grass, oak trees, turquoise springs, children flying kites, beef brisket and peach cobbler, the breeze running its fingers through my hair, and the sun warming my skin. No stress. No worries. I thought about saying goodbye to it all, maybe for the last time. I returned to Dallas the next day.