It was a black and white day on the shores of Calhoun. The dry grass poked into my tender feet just like pine needles or cactus can do. Sun was hot and dry, and the gentle sound of water cascading over pebble shores were behind us ... waiting. Mom stood before us with her camera while my brother was by my side. The sun was incredibly blinding to us, yet we smile through slitted eyes... for Mom.
The lake smelled like dead fish. They were either caught by hook and tossed back in or were choked to death by the pollution in their lake bed. Seaweed disgusts me, and can even scare me. Touching it is unheard of, as it could wrap around me and never let me go.
So standing in this patch of pine-ish needles is where I'll be .. until Mom has tanned long enough.
I'm looking at this picture now ... 39 yrs later. I can remember how that grass felt, and how the lake smelled. I didn't want to be there. I remember bottle tops scattered about, cigarette butts and yes, broken glass.
This is my memory of Lake Calhoun in 1964.
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