Stone cold well

I loved the old well with it's beautifully chiseled stone block walls,  bits of moss and slime clinging to the uneven sides.  I has no idea how long it had been there, or even who had built it, except as a child, it held a great fascination for me.  From an early age I would peer into it's depth, looking for the odd frog who had made it's home there.  I would run my hand slowly over the softness of the moss and pull threads of slime from the side of the walls.

My father once dropped a pair of pliers into the well, and reluctant to do the job himself, did his best to persuade me to dive down and retrieve them.  No sooner had I eased myself into the well, then my nerve deserted me.  I quickly jumped out of the icy, cold water and refused to go in again.  A sheep fell in and drowned once.  Fortunately, it was discovered before it rotted and messed up the water.

The constant overflow from the well trickled into a small stream, which oozed it's way through the grass, and down the gentle slope into the large dam behind the old cowshed. 
There was something rather magical about squelching through the warm, watery grass leading to the dam, then wading ankle deep in velvety mud, before pushing off with a lazy breast-stroke into the colder, deeper parts of the dam. 

The dam was full of frogs, sunning themselves on the grassy embankment.  With a cacophony of plops, they would fling themselves into the water ahead of any perceived danger. Along the one side of the dam, where one could dig out huge lumps of clay, were numerous crab holes, each with a pair of crab eyes peeping out and two twitching claws waving around, then as quick as a wink, they would disappear down the long passageway into the bank, re-emerging only when all was clear once more.

My father banged together a canoe for me, using a flat piece of tin, and I would lie back in it and sunbathe, contentedly floating around and listening to the gentle slap, slap, slapping of the water against the blistered, yellow paint.  

The dam played an integral part in the lives of my sisters and I.  It was here where we learned to swim, where we fished for frogs and where in Summer, we took our horses for a cooling dip.  I can't think of anything more therapeutic than lying across the back of a swimming horse.