Fool on the Hill

There are two kinds of bathers in this world: sprinklers and soakers. Sprinklers prefer to stand upright under a pulsating spray, while soakers like submerging their bodies in a pool of steaming water. My wusband was a sprinkler. He can't understand why people choose to "soak in their own filth," as he puts it, over rinsing themselves clean, right down to the last bubble of soap. This makes me laugh. Because the thing is, soakers don't soak just to get clean, they do it for the unrivaled experience of coming as close to being back in the womb as any of us will ever get.

In case you hadn't guessed, I'm a soaker. The photo above was taken when my granddaughter, E, was visiting a couple summers ago. We bathed under moonlight, in the claw foot tub that sits under a sequoia in my back yard, next to the fish pond. She and her mother, A,  are both soakers, as are my son and my other daughter, M. It wasn't unusual to find all of us in the same bathtub when they were growing up. In fact, when I first became a single parent, I purchased a new mobile home, purely due to the size of the tub in the master suite. It was big enough for all of us, and for my youngest, a virtual swimming pool.

I love my old bathtub. S and I light candles on a table next to it, wash each other's backs with scented salt scrubs, lounge under the full moon watching the steam rise into the night while sipping a glass of wine. We try to drag our soak-time out as long as possible, until the temperature cools and the water heater runs out of a fresh supply, before grabbing our robes and barefooting it back to the house.

Once in a while, we splurge on a tub at Sycamore Mineral Springs, where a dozen hot tubs fed by natural mineral springs dot the hilly landscape.Unfortunately, the old redwood tubs were recently replaced by newer plastic ones with lights inside. This, to me, defeats the purpose of bathing under the stars, stealing grace from the exhibition of one's aging body, magnified by ripples of water. Moonlight is much kinder than underwater light bulbs, but you still can't beat the healing properties of hot sulfur pumped straight from the Mother's belly into a little tub under a canopy of Sycamores, where mating owls chase each other in the foliage.

Last month, we booked a tub on a windy mid-week night, while the kid was home on break. One can't walk around the back yard naked when there's a teenager nearby-- especially when one of the naked people is his mother. So we headed for Sycamore with a bottle of wine, a couple of thick towels, and hopes for a luxurious evening out. Lucky for us, we scored the highest, most secluded tub on the hill--well worth climbing five flights of stairs to get there. Dropping our clothes, we slipped into the water and poured a glass of wine, while the wind whipped through the branches above us.

Then the best thing that can happen while you're soaking, happened: a light rain started  to fall. A few minutes later, the lights flickered off, along with the whirlpool jets. The Universe was suddenly dark and silent, save for a mix of appreciative "oohs" and disappointed "awws" from nearby tubbers. I was one of the former commenters, having bemoaned the lights in the first place. Somewhere, a generator kicked in, and the lights/jets came back on. Five minutes later, they went off again, this time to a cacaphony of applause mixed with disgruntled whines.

I, for one, couldn't imagine being disappointed by the sudden gift of darkness and silence. It was back to the way Sycamore Springs used to be in the old days. Except without the jets, in front of which many a female bather has gleefully worshipped in the glory of pulsating water. There's a local saying (okay, I'm the local who said it) that if you had a nickle for every orgasm had on Sycamore Hill, you could buy your own resort. This thought was immediately followed by a flood of sudden understanding. How many of my sister-bathers must have been this close to the Big O, just before the electricity went out. I'm betting at least a dollar's worth.

Which just goes to show you how old I'm getting. I actually had positioned one of those jets against my aching back. That, my friends, is just plain sad.

Technorati Tags: hot springs, body image, menopausehot flashes, sexuality, relationshipshot tubs

Comments

[Hope]

My sister has a claw foot tub at her place - it takes two hours for the fire underneath to heat up the water and then cool it off enough to bathe in. I haven't tried it yet but your post made me think I just might have to give it a try next time I visit her.

[Jim Brodhead]

OK, just the last two paragraphs were worth the price of this one. Literally laughed out loud. But it's not sad my friend...it's the perfect counterpoint to those sweet memories.

I hate cold water...God meant it for one thing, to be mixed with bourbon on special occasions. I was out in the woods near an Indian encampment. We had just helped some tribal members start a bunch of chickens on their final journey from coop to cooking fire and I had chicken blood all over me. I stopped by a stream on a very chilly day and gritted my teeth as I prepared to wash myself clean. There was some kind of strange vibe going on and I didn't feel the cold at all...just an incredible lightness and freedom from the usual inhibitions. It's an outdoor thing, an earth thing...a connection we are meant to experience but often miss because we are too too urbanized.

[tt]

Got room for one more?

[pioneerspirittb]

Your post brought back memories of the first mineral bath I ever had. Actually the only natural one at a spring. I can still feel the bubbly sensation on my skin and the ultra clean feeling afterward. A few times I had mineral salt baths in a flotation tank. That was the greatest. One hr in that tank made me feel like a million bucks. I'm glad you told TT to get his own tub. I've been trying to get him to fix our hot tub for 3 years. Not as good as a hot mineral bath but it will do.

[Janeen]

As a fellow soaker, and a patron of a wonderful hot springs that still has old fashioned stone-lined soaking pools, I adored this post. Now I just need a sexy man to share it with.

[Fran aka Redondowriter]

I remember when you came with lots of goodies to hot tub with Linda and I at Sycamore Mineral Springs. At least i think that's where we were. That's a lovely picture of you and your granddaughter.

[Kurt]

Fantastic writing style! I am reserving a tub for the wife and me but the old redwood ones will be missed.

Do you remember the name of the tub that was at the top and secluded?

Soak 'n Poke here we come!

Best,
Kurt