When summer came, we needed a place for our large family to cool off, preferably in a natural body of water. That’s when we were renting that crappy house in Ringville and didn’t have a lot of money. We didn’t even own a fan.
So, when Hank got home from work or on the weekends, we headed to the Chesterfield Bend. Located in the western part of Chesterfield, it is intended for residents of that town, which was next to ours. The Bend is located on the East Branch of the Westfield River and accessed via a short dirt road. (The Westfield has three branches.) The beach and river bottom is on the rocky side, but we didn’t care. We were there for a quick dunk and an easy swim.
The Chesterfield Bend Trust aimed to keep the property in its natural state, so there were no bathrooms or trashcans. I understand it still is that way. We haven’t been back in many years. The parking lot was small. So, people were expected to be mindful of that. I never saw a large crowd there, usually a few people like us wanting to cool off.
Certainly, we were grateful to have such a place close enough to home where we could bring our kids during those hot spells, so we were thoughtful visitors. Sometimes we happened to meet friends from our town there. Worthington’s rivers didn’t have anything like it although there is a waterfall in the western part of town.
In the photo above, Hank and I sit on a log at the Chesterfield Bend. I am holding our then newborn son, Zack. You can see our old VW van behind us.
In 1993, 43 miles of the Westfield River were designated Massachusetts’ first National Wild & Scenic River. As the hilltown reporter for the Daily Hampshire Gazette then, I wrote stories on what could be found along its three branches and what used to be there. These included the time I spent with a fishing group who were checking what kind of insects were in the river’s water, hiking to the stone railroad bridges in Chester, and once trying to find a source up north. I will write about that for a future Hilltown Postcard.
By the way, the Wild & Scenic designation was expanded to encompass over 78 miles.
I memorialize the Chesterfield Bend in my novel, The Sacred Dog, in a couple of scenes. In one, Frank Hooker, owner of a country bar by that name, takes his young daughter, Crystal to what I call the Sawtooth River. She and her mother, who is divorced from Frank, have returned after living in Florida.
The Sawtooth River, as it was named, bore a puny resemblance to the wild rush of water that once ran through these high walls of ledge. A rocky beach was along one part of the shore the locals called Turner’s Spit although Frank’s father had said he couldn’t recall why it ever got that name.
Here’s more from The Sacred Dog. Frank and his daughter sit on its rocky beach.
The only other people at the beach were two women, who sat on an outcropping of ledge, and three small kids wearing only underpants as they played along the river’s edge. Frank greeted the women, locals, as he directed his daughter where to spread their towels. Frank took off his jersey and dropped his jeans. He wore the swimming trunks he bought for his last trip to Florida, the one with the seahorse insignia embroidered on the backside. The suit made him feel silly, but it was the best he could find at the time. Frank slapped the loose flesh around his middle and decided he should lose weight.
He and Crystal walked gingerly over the river’s rocky bottom until the water came to his waist. He lay back into the river as if it were his bed, and Crystal splashed water at the front of his face and hair. She jumped around him before, at her urging, they swam to a diving rock set in the deepest part of the Sawtooth River. Frank showed her how to make the jump safely, which they did over and over until they tired of it.
Back on shore, they drank from the cans of soda he brought.
“Promise me something, sweetie. Don’t you ever jump anywhere else in this river, except by that big stone.” He warned Crystal so sternly her eyes flickered, so he softened his voice. “It’s just not deep enough. You could get hurt, and I wouldn’t want that to happen. Please, promise me.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I promise.”
“Good.”
She pointed toward the kids playing along the shore. “Is it okay I go play with them?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
He watched Crystal approach the kids, who used rocks to dam water into a pool. Crystal said they should catch fish, andafter finding they didn’t have a pail, she showed them how they could use their hands to scoop the water.
“I used to do this in Florida all the time when I lived there. But now I live here again near my Daddy.”
Frank felt that floating feeling rise inside again when he heard his daughter talk.
By the way, I am closing in on the ending to The Unforgiving Town, which is a sequel to The Sacred Dog. This one is a mystery genre. You and the town’s police chief need to solve the death of the most unliked person in that small town. Here’s the link to The Sacred Dog.