The summer of 2013 is too rapidly coming to an end. The blistering 95-degree days of July have faded away during the first few weeks of August into glorious days in a more temperate 80-degree range. Normally it’s in August when we on the U.S. east coast suffer the dog days of summer, but so far this August has been mild and we even had a few crisp nights. We of course have yet to see what late August and early September will bring.

The cool weather eased our transition from rural refuge to urban life. Last week my wife and I surrendered the weekend country house and its lake, canoes, and sailboat that we had rented for six weeks back to its owners. We said goodbye to the lichen-spotten granite boulders that were found everywhere near the house and along and in the lake. The uneven stone staircase that I carefully used to go down to the lake, the hammock hung between an old oak and maple tree, and even the lake itself have all begun their fade into memory. This will be the summer we refer to as “the summer we rented the house near Beacon.” We have returned to our more familiar surroundings of the canyons and spires of Manhattan.

As I’ve mentioned in earlier columns, we do not own a car. We traveled most of the way to and from the lake by a commuter train that runs along the eastern bank of the Hudson River to Beacon, New York, where we rented a car. An old stone marker adjacent to the railroad station in Beacon faintly reads a “59” -- milestone 59; 59 miles to Grand Central Station.

But the lake we were staying on, 10 miles to the east of Beacon, was a world away from New York City. No motors are allowed on this lake, which feeds one of New York City’s drinking water reservoirs. Other than a racket of crickets at night, the rustling of tree leaves, and the noise of an occasional plane flying overhead, it was practically as silent as an empty prayer hall. We never saw more than three to four canoes or kayaks on the lake at any one time. We generally swam completely alone on the lake – either along the crooked shore or to one of the small islands a few hundred feet off the shore that we used as a marker or occasional resting spot.

That aging milestone at the Beacon railroad station prompted me to think of a few milestones I passed this summer. Our eldest child married in June; the third year of my myeloma-enforced retirement passed by in July; and in August I had another birthday. And this summer my swimming returned to its pre-stem cell transplant comfort level, a bit over one year after I emerged from the hospital weakened from that procedure.

On a recent day trip to Beacon for groceries, I learned about a one-mile cross-Hudson swim, which starts just across the river in Newburgh, a 30-minute car ride from Beacon.

I had been swimming a mile in a pool regularly this past spring, and with my regular swims in the lake this summer, I felt confident that I could master the one-mile swim across the Hudson.

I looked up the swim event on the web, and learned that the organizers arrange for the river to be closed to traffic for a few hours on the day of the swim, and that water quality in the Hudson at Beacon is high enough to drink. Kayakers create a channel across the river, perhaps 50 yards wide, for the swimmers to swim in. I immediately signed up for what the organizers dubbed the “10th Anniversary Great Newburgh to Beacon Hudson River Swim.”

I am currently experiencing a “honeymoon” phase of my multiple myeloma treatment. Other than neuropathy and intermittent waves of fatigue, my regimen of oral chemotherapy, monthly gamma globulin infusions, and an occasional shot of Neupogen (filgrastim) have been keeping my symptoms at bay. The pneumonias of the past winter, some fainting in the spring before I started being treated with hydrocortisone, and the weaknesses of the stem cell transplant seemed very distant. I nevertheless decided to get medical clearance for the event, which I received.

Thus on a bright morning in late July, I joined 177 other swimmers for the one-mile swim across the Hudson from Newburgh to Beacon. I registered at a folding table and was given a bright red swim cap with the number 108 magic marked on it. My shoulders were similarly inscribed. Each swimmer was given an electronic bracelet to wear so that the organizers could keep track of us as we entered and, most importantly, left the water.

Pete Seeger (who is now 94 years old) serenaded us off with two of the many songs that he has written, including “If I Had a Hammer” and “Turn, Turn, Turn,” as well as “This Land is Your Land,” written by Woodie Guthrie. Toshi, Seeger’s wife of almost 70 years, had written some verses to “Turn Turn Turn.” Toshi had died a few months before this swim; many swimmers had written her name on their swim caps and on their backs, along with their assigned numbers.

I and the other 177 swimmers in our iridescent red or green swim caps lined up on a dock in no particular order. In groups of 50, we plunged into the water around 11:30 a.m. The event was timed to coincide with the change of the tides to limit the impact of the current. The water was warm, and I followed the crowd of splashing feet in front of me. During my entire swim, I did not feel the current at all.

We soon spread out – this was not a race. As the other swimmers faded out of my vision, I soon entered “my zone” of meditation in water, banking on my homing instinct to guide me to the other side.

The Hudson River at Beacon is not clear stream. The river contains far too much silt and microscopic plant life to see more than a foot below or ahead of you. The Hudson is also far too deep to see the bottom. The organizers suggested we aim toward a church steeple visible on the east side of the river at the top of a forested hill above the village of Beacon.

I suppose I zigzagged across the river between the lines of kayaks, but I have little memory of using either the kayaks or the church steeple for orientation. I tried to keep the sun in the same spot above me and to parallel the Newburgh Beacon Bridge when I looked to the north.

After about 20 minutes, I felt coolness on my head – I realized that my swim cap had come off. I turned around and plunged my hand into the water behind me, grabbed the floating cap and got it back on my bald head. I looked around, saw the kayaks and many other swimmers ambling along, and returned to my reveries and my lazy crawl stroke under a very bright summer sun.

About 30 minutes into the swim, I gently bumped another swimmer on the head, who graciously accepted my apologies. I raised my foggy goggles and paused to scan the open river to the south and the shore a half mile away to the east. The steeple of the church was clearly visible. The steel beams of the Newburgh bridge loomed to the north and Storm King mountain loomed to the south, a mountain adjacent to West Point we have climbed many times in the fall.

I proceeded a bit more gingerly during the second half of the swim to avoid clobbering anyone else. A few of the swimmers were chatting with one another –- no one in this group seemed to be trying to achieve any time goals.

Another 20 or 25 minutes later my hand struck one of the kayaks. After growling at what I supposed was an errant kayaker, I learned that the incoming tide had pushed me upstream out of the course. I adjusted my angle to not miss the Beacon dock and followed more carefully the line of swimmers in front of me.

As I climbed on to the dock a few minutes later, I checked my watch. About an hour had passed since I had jumped into the water in Newburgh.

When I swim a mile in the pool I use in Manhattan, I usually complete it in 45 to 50 minutes. Swimming across a mile-wide river in a current proved to be entirely different. No ropes or blue markers in the tiles at the bottom of the pool serve as guidelines to keep you in line. No wall at the end of pool and no clock help pace your 25-yard laps. You set your own pace to your body’s rhythm. A one-mile, open water river crossing under a cerulean blue sky provided time and space to let my body and mind wander.

As I clambered on to the dock in Beacon, onlookers and friends of the swimmers were shouting and clapping. My wife and two friends waved at me to come over and dry off. When I checked the website of the swim a few days later, I saw that I had indeed finished the crossing in an hour plus a few seconds. One swimmer finished in 23 minutes; another in an hour and 38. A great swim with a great spirit.

Swimming the Hudson was a big milestone for me. I’m hoping that I can refer to this swim as “the first time I swam across the Hudson.”

Other than taking a quick 50-minute subway trip yesterday to swim in the ocean near Coney Island, I’m pretty much back to swimming in the pool. The lake swimming hasn’t spoiled it for me, but I do miss the green trees and the boulders. The water continues to be wonderful tonic for my body and my mind.