A Trip Back in Time Joyce Genske

“That’s an awful long way to go for a playground: over twenty miles each way?” she asked. “Yep, and I have my little sister on the handle bars: not that much to do around here all summer,” I replied. “Well, next time, stop in and say hey: I’ll buy you and your sister a Coke: name’s Dottie,” she said with a grin. I smiled and nodded, delighted with the invitation from such a friendly and intriguing young woman. My dad stopped his trek. “This where you been drilling?” asked Dottie. “Yeah, give or take fifty feet or so,” he replied. Dottie didn’t even have to take the two forks of the branch in hand: she just held the rod by her side and said, “We’ll have to move out farther: no water here. Did you have any other areas in mind for your well?” she asked. “Got a second and third choice: follow me,” said Dad. Off we went to the far edge of the grove. “Much better; let’s take a look,” said Dottie grasping the forks of the rod in her hands. Walking in a circle that became gradually wider, the rod dipped slightly several times. “There’s water here, probably too deep, seventy feet or better: you’re hoping for closer water, right?” confirmed Dottie. “Yeah, I sure am,” replied my dad. Continuing to make her circle larger, she stopped when the branch pulled strongly downward toward the earth and said, “Good strong reaction: plenty of water and at no more than forty feet! Dad marked the spot with a wooden stake with a rag tied to its top. “You want me to check out your third choice as a back-up since I’m here?” inquired Dottie. Dad agreed that was wise and we traipsed through the sandy grove to the backside of the property. “May I try it?” I asked eagerly. “Sure,” said Dottie, immediately handing over the branch. I could tell that Dad wasn’t too happy about the idea. “Now start here and walk in a circle and keep making that circle bigger: let the forks of the rod lie loosely in your hands,” she told me. I did as instructed and thought I felt a few little tugs downward but was sure it was merely the power of suggestion. With a bit of unusual gruffness in his voice Dad said, “That’s enough, Cindy. Give her back her branch.” “Just a little bit longer,” I pleaded while continuing to walk. Within seconds, I felt a strong tug downward that made me stumble in the deep sand. “Cindy, stop it now; you’re just fooling around,” my dad admonished. “No! I feel it,” I bellowed. Dottie took over the rod and was about as surprised as Dad and I were when she felt the same hard tug downward in the exact spot. Even the thin bark on the branch became twisted and loose. “Had lots of kids try this out, let them have a bit of fun, but Cindy here has it. Your daughter is a water witch,” she said excitedly. Dad did not look pleased about my newly discovered ability. “So there!” I said to myself. We walked back toward our house where Dottie’s pick-up truck was parked. Dad was all business and handed her the $15 fee, thanked her, and left. I lingered by her truck, hoping to receive some high accolades. Dottie had other things to impart. “Okay, Cindy, it’s probably best that you not go around telling people about your ability. It makes folks 35 uneasy, kind of like it does your father. I’m only telling you this because at about your age I was ostracized for it. You know that word, ostracized?” I nodded. “The other thing I want to tell you is to never, ever be ashamed of your height! I see you slumping to appear shorter: stand tall and proud, and in not too many years the other kids will be plain out jealous.” As Dottie got into her truck and started the engine she said, “Don’t forget to stop by the nursery for that Coke.” “Okay, I won’t forget,” I said feeling both pleased and awkward as I peered down at my flip- flops. Over fifty years later, I still recall that day vividly. After Dottie left, my dad walked around the grove with his own freshly cut branch, desperately trying to feel the downward pull, but never did. To my knowledge, he never mentioned my ability to anyone, not even my mother, and I took Dottie’s advice and remained silent. From time to time, over the next ten years, Dad quietly elicited my help to locate water, never uttering the words water witch. By my mid twenties, the ability disappeared and it all remained a secret between my dad and me. I wondered if Dottie had retained her ability. Never had that Coke with Dottie either. Dad had overheard my telling her about the forty-mile roundtrip excursions with my sister, four years younger, on my bike’s handlebars and put the kibosh on that. I did not even think of telling him that the ride to the playground had been a frequent activity for the past three summers!