Don't Need No Cement Pond
2006-07-02, 3:15 p.m.

�I need to prove to everybody that I can swim without dying!� quoth the boy. He�s such a realist.

Dad was eager to deflect attention from his amazing home repair skillz. Everybody was hot and tired. The cement ponds around here close at 5pm, so what�s a body to do? Oh, wait, that�s right, we live in God�s country. So when you want to go swimming, you go here:

Yes, this is where we live. You have to drive 15 whole minutes to get into the mountains. It�s tough, but someone�s gotta do it.

There are 13,842,357 swimming holes in the Great Smoky Mountains, and over the July 4th weekend, 13, 842, 357 are occupied, giving each standard tourist roughly 3 square inches of space in the water, unless you know where to go. We do. Our favorite spot had 3 picnicking squatters and one lone fisherman dressed oddly like a Junior Girl Scout who was casting what appeared to be clothesline. Amazingly, he had caught nothing all day. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. Maybe it was the Thin Mints he was using as bait. I hear fish like Trefoils better.

(Guru Jr., ignoring the fisherman dressed as a 4th grade female. Daughter�s just doin� her thang. Check out the rocks to the lower left, you can just make out some of the old train tracks jutting out from the logging company glory days of yore.)

We entered the water just upstream from the Fishing Grrrl Scout and

I guess we didn�t help his fishing none, because Grrrl Scout packed it up and left after a bit. Go figure. We didn�t want to be rude, but there are miles upon miles upon miles of fishing spots up there, far more of those than swimming holes. Common law #1: Swimmers trump fishing at a swimming hole. Common law #2: My baby�s been waiting two days to show the world he can swim, so I WILL forcibly remove you from his way. And if you are wondering if the boy had a good time:

And how does Mom feel about it?

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