Today, after dropping my two older sons at camp, I decided to keep driving instead of bringing my youngest son right home. It was a beautiful day, clear blue sky, no humidity, warm but not stifling. A rare slice of perfection in a NJ summer. 

We stopped at the bridge under the bridge which is becoming a favorite spot. 

As we stepped onto the old tresses, he turned to me with a serious face. 

“Mama. Can we swim there?”
“How do you get down to the old town?” 

The reservoir beneath the bridge, we’ve come to learn, submerged the old town that was originally settled there. 

I walked, explaining to him that reservoirs provide water for people to drink, and that local governments regulate it to ensure it’s safe. I told him there’s no way to go in, but maybe when he’s older he can be a researcher who is allowed to dive down to the site. 

He didn’t hear anything I said.

Instead he spent the morning telling me all about his diving adventure plans. Apparently, he just needs some scuba gear (and to learn how to swim in the deep end) and he will be all set. 

I saw a protected reservoir. He saw an underwater town in need of an explorer.