By Clif Knight

Swim season moved ahead with a big splash last week after a cool and wet Labor Day weekend gave way to 90-degree temperatures and several days of unabated sunshine.

My family and I escaped the worst of the heat as vacationers in the Smoky Mountains. We enjoyed the cool comfort of a cottage and a half in Gatlinburg, Tenn., and limited outdoor exposure to sightseeing, dining out, shopping and entertainment. We even wore light jackets while seated in an amphitheater watching a production of “Unto These Hills,” in Cherokee, N.C.

Our 4-year-old great-granddaughter, Layla Fullerton, paid absolutely no attention to the weather. She played in a swimming pool near our cottage two or three times each day.

After breakfast one morning, she took my hand and led me to the pool, jumping in, dress and all, to show me how she can dog paddle. I quickly called her mother to report our whereabouts and ask for a bathing suit.

Her love for the water reminded me of the wash holes my siblings and I played in to cool off during hot summers when I was a kid.

We were fortunate to live on a farm with a branch head at the back door of our house. The runoff from the springs that supplied our farm with its water supply formed a fast-moving branch that ran through our pasture. In addition to providing us with a bountiful water supply for our home, livestock and a large flock of laying hens, it gave the opportunity for us kids to build a dam on it each summer for a wash hole.

The dam was a backbreaking project that required our labor anytime we got a break from fieldwork. After dinner, we’d rush to the construction site and work frantically for 20-30 minutes, digging dirt and carrying it to the dam in buckets and a wheelbarrow. We’d repeat the work detail between sundown and dark.

The water backed up to a depth of four feet and had a sand bottom. It was suitable for shallow diving and attracted a large group of kids on Sunday afternoons.

Other popular wash holes, all of which were larger and deeper, were located on two nearby creeks. Getting to them was time consuming and difficult on foot.

The alternative was to borrow a pick-up truck and fill its cab and bed with a dozen or more swimmers.