In the summertime we would go swimming at the Withhorn's place, about half way between Oak Ridge and Rayville, on the banks of Bayou Lafourche, said to be some fifty feet deep at the spot where we swam. The boys had tied a rope to a big overhanging tree limb that we could swing out on and splash down into the water. Great fun, if you knew how to swim. I didn't. If you think water wings are a relatively new invention, think again. Two gallon-size empty syrup buckets, lids firmly tamped down, were sewn into a pillow case and the contraption tied onto the body in some fashion, enabling the non-swimmers to participate in the water fun.
Later on, Daddy tried to teach me to swim in a different, shallow part of Bayou Lafourche. I'm still not much of a swimmer, and my training didn't improve years later when I was given an impromptu swimming lesson by my Aunt Clemmie's boyfriend when he threw me into the public swimming pool at Hodge. He certainly did not win any points with me, believe you me, as I neary drowned. JW and I spent many hours in the swimming pool in Hodge.
Adley and Lillian Pepper were avid fishermen, spending many hours on Lake Bisteneau. However, their temperaments caused lots of squabbles over such things as choosing the best spot to drop their lines. Bickering often was a sidelight of their fishing, usually if one was catching fish and the other wasn't, in spite of doing everything exactly the same. They usually caught enough fish to have a big fish fry. If you are catching fish, all's well with the world; if you're not, nothing is right with anything, including your partner, don't you think?
Fishing trips when I was a child began in the wee hours of the morning, at three or four a.m., for it was a sacrilege if you weren't out on the lake at daybreak, ready to fish the moment the fish could see to eat. Other trips began the evening before. We took folding cots, mosquito nets and cooking equipment, including a butane stove Daddy built. What a marvelous feeling it is sleeping on the banks of a lake, the moon reflecting on the silvery waters amid bald cypresses draped with eerie-looking Spanish moss, lulled to sleep by frogs and other sounds of the night, knowing you aren't alone out there. In those days we had no fear of our fellow man, maybe of the slithery creatures of the night but nothing ever got us. Fried fish tastes so much more delicious when eaten within hours of being caught. There's no comparison!