The Lumber River was black, just as black as the Pee Dee. And both still are. I’ve never been swimming in the Pee Dee, but I spent a good part of childhood swimming in the Lumber River. Old maps have it titled Drowning Creek, and with good reason.

The river ran through the back of Grandmama’s farm. Our section of the river had an island in the center, thickly wooded. To the left of the island was a swift current hurrying downriver to McGirt’s Bridge.

To the right, upstream, the river forked. As children, we weren’t sure where the right fork of the river flowed from.

It looked a little menacing, and tree limbs hung low

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