Two in one
Barton Springs Early Morning Swim Report
09/26/2024
Mid 60s this morning, at last. In the dark on the deck as I arrive, a tiny heron with its beak ajar; as I leave in light, a woman facetiming her mother. All seasons are good at Barton Springs, but I prefer a chill in the air, and I love arriving in the dark and leaving in the light.
This morning I was thinking about all the things that might’ve discouraged me from swimming over the past four years. The attacking geese, for instance. The discovery that raccoons can swim; the discovery that raccoons do swim, at least sometimes. The pedestrian on 38th Street who charged my car at 5AM, only to spit on my window. The closed locker rooms. The closed parking lot. The closed at 5AM north entrance. The backstroker who called me a name and told me to fuck off. The recent thefts of bags. Any one of these things might have convinced me that it was time to throw in the swimming towel. Is it maturity? Pandemic-inspired sticktoitiveness? No, merely this: I began bragging on the internet and in class and every goddamn place that I swim early mornings at Barton Springs year round, and now the idea of somebody asking me, “Did you swim today?” and me having to answer, “No, I just kind of—I don’t do that anymore….” Well, I couldn’t bear it.
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10/3/2024
My least favorite season of Barton Springs is ACL, this weekend and next. The festival takes over the park. I’ve been traveling, which means today was my only chance for a swim until next Tuesday. So when I showed up this morning at 6AM to see three other women of a certain age standing outside the gate, my heart sank. The gates for early morning swimmers open remotely. It’s probably through an app but I picture an enormous switch on the wall, of the Doctor Frankenstein sort. One of the women was already on the phone to 311, city services. I was dubious, but then, suddenly the gate was unlocked.
I’ve just finished a draft of a book which will be published next year. It’s a book about writing. It’s full of wisecracks. It’s a bit more commercial than any book I’ve written; I’ve decided to be tiresome about it on social media. It’s call A Long Game: Notes On Writing Fiction. Not done yet, but getting there. Monday I will be back in my writing place, hanging out with these fellows, trying to write a novel.
This weekend I will be at my 40th high school reunion.
A lovely swim, starry sky, very dark. Soon it will be cold. All the quitters will quit. Not me, baby.
Gonna geek out and say I cannot WAIT for a McCracken craft book 🫶🏽 The Giant’s House is more famous than the Bible in this home (where one of the kids once pronounced it “bibble”). Hope your forays into tireless social media are as fun as this swim report! 🪿
You might know this already, but just in case not…During ACL fest, if you drive to the south entrance using Bluebonnet Street, you will come across some coppers standing at a barricade. If you tell them you are going for a swim at the springs, they will move the barricade for you like you’re the Queen of England and allow you to pass. Then you head on over to the pool. I confirmed the other day with an attendant that this still works. It’s possible many people know this now, but back when I used to do it pre-lockdown, I’d arrive to mostly have the entire place to myself—you can hear the 50,000 music fans just over there, and yet the pool is an uncrowded oasis. Pretty magical.