Cottonwood Lake

Cottonwood Lake was northeast of us, almost on a direct line from the Heinzerling place to Redfield. It was a fairly shallow, fairly small lake fed by a lazy stream. If you go here:
http://www.us-places.com/South-Dakota/Spink-County.htm
you will find Cottonwood Lake on a map. Switch to satellite/hybrid for a better look at it, and zoom in. Cottonwood Lake was about 10 miles away.

Before we even got home from church, we children were nagging Mom and Dad to get ready to go to the lake right away. It didn't work. We had dinner and then some time to relax and take a nap before we left. Only the littler ones and parents napped. Kay, Jim, Terry and I were eager to get going.

We went north on our township road until we reached the 10 Mile Road, a county road. We  turned east for a few miles until we came to another county road, the Wessington Road. We followed that north until we came to State Highway 26, the only paved road on the route, which took us to Cottonwood Lake. It was approximately a 20 minute trip.

Looks like Wessington Road

Wessington Road covered some gently rolling hills, and we children loved them. If Dad took them at the right speed, and let up on the accelerator at the right time, it felt like we were dropping off the top, similar to a roller coaster. We cheered Dad on as we ascended another hill, and laughed at the funny feeling in our tummies when we descended.

Cottonwood Lake became a regular summer Sunday outing for us. It started with a partnership among four families. There was Gordon, Betty, Gary, Sharon, Steve, Marty and Richie Strasburg. Betty was Dad’s sister. There was Joe, Sharon, Jerry, Brad and (?) Oligmueller. There was Ralph, Pat, Ed and Joe Watkins. The latter two families were friends and neighbors. Together, we bought a boat useful for pulling water-skiers and taking non-skiers for rides. Usually Gordon kept the boat at his farm since Strasburgs were only about five miles from the lake. We used the public access area on the south side.

After a year in which the Sunday afternoon recreation proved itself so popular, we all bought a lot on the lake, and put up a steel shed not much bigger than the boat, to keep it in. We also built an outhouse, for reasons I’m sure I don’t have to go into. The boathouse was close to the water with a concrete floor that extended to the edge of the water. That way the boat trailer was rolled out onto the concrete until it was in the water and the boat was easily floated off.

That's just what we looked like as we learned to ski.

There was a wooden dock, a sandy beach, and lots of children. The older children and men skiied, along with Betty and Sharon O. Mom didn’t know how to swim and was a little scared of water, so she didn’t try. Pat Watkins was not athletic like her husband and son. She tried to ski, but mostly she failed.

Ralph Watkins was clearly the most skilled skier. He was the first to ski, then progress to one ski. The best skiing stories are about Ralph.

Ralph was a farmer, as were all the rest of us. He was a big, taciturn man, well-tanned from being out on the tractor, though he had the white forehead typical of farmers. That was because they all wore seed corn caps (like baseball caps), with the bill shading their foreheads. Ralph gave the impression of a lumbering type, perhaps because he was so athletic and graceful that his movements seemed slower. Like the other men, he wore swim trunks that were a bit loose, and stopped about halfway between knee and hip. Also like them, his legs were pale white since men did not wear shorts. Ralph liked to smoke a sizable cigar and wear an unbuttoned, short-sleeved shirt to the lake, along with a well-worn straw hat.

When it was his turn to ski, Ralph shambled and ambled his way to the end of the dock. There he donned skis and hung his legs off the end of the dock, tow rope in hand, not saying a word. He still wore his shirt and hat, cigar clamped in his mouth. The boat took off and Ralph was launched expertly and perfectly from the dock, skis slapping the water as he hit.

He made several laps of the lake, doing turns and tricks, switching to one ski, wake jumping. Finally the boat brought him back in to our little beach. As the boat turned parallel to the shore, Ralph swung in toward us, one hand still on the rope. When he got to the right place, Ralph let go and glided in to the sand, running out of momentum at the same time that he reached the sand.

Ralph stepped out of the ski and returned it to the dock for the next skier. Meanwhile, his hat was still in place, shirt on, and lit cigar still in his mouth. His lower legs were the only part of him to get wet. He smiled a shy smile. Ralph was a marvel on skis.

That's about the size of our boat, but ours was not as sleek.

We children played games in and out of the water, made sand castles, chased each other around, examined foot prints in the sand, fled imaginary water monsters. We had plenty of fights and arguments too.

The mothers did some swimming and skiing while all adults kept an eye on the children. It was great play for everyone.

Around six or seven in the evening, the adults called the children in. Each family bought a lunch to share. There were sandwiches, chips, potato salad, cake and a drink. The women laid the feast out on a couple of card tables in the boathouse, along with plastic forks and spoons, (which we usually washed and used again) and paper plates, napkins and cups. We wrapped ourselves in towels, filled our plates and found a spot to sit down and eat.

It was a lot of fun, a low cost social occasion that was convivial and active. Sometimes guests joined us. They might be a weekend visitor or child’s school buddy. The Bill Oligmueller family joined us for part of a summer, but there were no new members added to the partnership.

One winter when the lake was high, the ice froze and pushed up against the boat house. The boat was not kept there in the winter, but the concrete was broken and part of the steel was collapsed like an accordian from the pressure of the ice. The men repaired it, and Cottonwood Lake Sundays went on.

As the children grew and moved away, and adults aged, interest in the lake waned. There was a drought or two that drastically lowered the lake so that some areas were not safe for the boat. The families stopped attending in the mid-1970s. In the 1980s Cottonwood became so depleted that one could walk across it.

Today, in 2011 Cottonwood Lake is at a good level and more populated than ever before. There are many cabins situated on the shore, and a business that offers dining. Our lot was sold decades ago, and a cabin sits there now. The slough grass that was so prolific is gone, replaced by a green lawn.

Cottonwood Lake served us well for several years. Good ole Cottonwood.