Keeper of the water

By Margaret A. Frey

I never wanted a swimming pool, not once, though I’ve long admired the playful designs—round and octagon, kidney- and heart-shaped. Or my all-time favorites: Liberace’s quirky piano pool and Nashville’s mosaic-tiled guitar. Still, digging a hole in the ground and filling it with water always struck me as silly and pointless. I grew up along the creeks, rivers and lakes of South Jersey. My sister and I skimmed stones and canoed the Delaware, entered inner-tube races on Olympia Lake and spent heady weekends surfing the Atlantic off Brigantine Island. Private pools were rare in the 1950s and ’60s, a luxury only the rich could afford.…

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