As we have said, we are very water-conscious here on Skinny Island, particularly in the environs of the little hacienda.  We don’t get near enough rain, and what we do get we try to capture and store for use in the garden and for the few ornamental plants that otherwise manage to survive in this harsh environment.  We have the washer drain to a barrel outside (gray water) for plant use as well.  We take short showers; never leave the water running when brushing teeth or doing dishes; and generally freak out when the infrequent guest does.  All of which leaves us somewhat chagrined in light of a conversation we had coming back from Amelia Island last night.

I don’t remember the context, I guess it was gliding through a purple dusk anticipating summer, but somehow the subject of playing in the hose when we were kids came up.  Both Papa and Meemaw are Florida natives, and spent the majority of our childhood in heat and humidity, and consequently, inventive ways to cool off.  Meemaw claims to have had an above-ground pool– not a wader– at one point, which in Miami was something of a rarity, but not the Harrison children.  If we weren’t frolicking in the Gulf, our chosen method of cooling off was an event called “Playing in the Hose.”  Everybody did it.  It began with you moaning and whining about being hot and having nothing to do, and when she’d had enough, mom saying, “Why don’t you go play in the hose?”

Advocates of the “Slip ‘n Slide” may or may not pay historical respect, but the fact remains, “Playing in the Hose” preceded any commercial adaptation.  Technically, of course, for the uninitiated, uninformed, or just plain slow, you weren’t really playing in the hose, you were playing with the hose, or better yet, playing in the water provided by the hose.  It was a simple process really, and could be practiced alone if necessary, but always better in small groups, i.e. friends, cousins, even sisters.  You took turns; everybody had to be a squirter, that is, man the hose and, controlling the flow with the thumb, administer the water in as creative a fashion as personal gifts allowed.  The rest got to run through, or otherwise act the fool in the stream of water.  This could go on for hours, usually until well after dark.  I cringe now to think of the thousands of gallons of water that went into that play, but hey, it was watering the lawn.

“Making It Rain” was probably the most popular variance, accomplished, of course, by pointing the hose skyward and achieving a rain-like effect by skillful use of the thumb on the stream.  Some could do it, and some could not.  Arcs, straight blasts, stingers, and sticking the hose into one’s swim trunks were other variations.

Those were the fundamentals.  The next step, and for some an advancement of the technology, was “Playing in the Sprinkler,” with the sprinkler in question usually a small rotating device with four arms that, when turned on, threw water amazing distances, and much later, toward the end of the Playing in the Sprinkler Era, the aluminum arch that sent forth an anemic rainbow of water.  Clearly, though Playing in the Sprinkler freed everyone to run amok, it lacked the nuance, the creative spirit, of Playing in the Hose.  It is a vague memory, so I must have been a small child, but we at one time had a metal clown figure you stuck in the ground, with a bib on the back for attaching the hose.  He either spit, or spewed, or vomited the water as you ran past, which was both exhilarating and terrifying.  Long after he was retired for some malfunction or disinterest on our part, he stood in a corner of the garage and leered at me, dying a slow death of rust, but smiling unnervingly, nevertheless.  I think he may have influenced my negative feelings for Playing in the Sprinkler.

Could I still do it?  No, I don’t think so, even if physically able.  I couldn’t let myself.  Too much has changed; too much has grown inside; things like responsibility, stewardship, conservationism; things that, while certainly necessary, often are unsmiling, even grim.  That said, the memory delights, and my idea of a perfect world would certainly include enough water for “Playing in the Hose.”

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