Perhaps this is showing my country, but when I was little we used to drive out to an area more rural than we already lived. I remember we would either pass over old wooden train bridge that my mom never forgot to tell me about the mom who died on the tracks and kept appearing on the bridge to find her kids. Or we would pass by the graveyard with the big angel statue that mom swore cried real tears verified by a state lab as human tears.
We would go down a long road between two small towns, and about halfway was a creek with a small modern bridge across it. On one side was a flat packed dirt area where people would park to go swimming. Yes in the creek. There were two knotted ropes hanging from limbs for people to swing out into it. The water was always so stirred up and muddy you could never tell what was in there, and it was almost always cold. A popular summer spot.
On the other side of the road the creek was much thinner, and there wasn’t a parking spot. You walked across and it was packed with trees. About 30 feet away from the road was a larger tree with spreading roots. In the roots was a natural spring that would always be full. We would go there and use a small new to skim the bugs off the top, and then fill two gallon jugs full of cold spring water. We would drink our fill there, top them off, and move on. Yes, no boiling or filtering of water.