Creek Passage
The other day a couple kids came by asking if they could cross our field to return from the creek after tubing down to our property.
We have had trouble with this in past years. Sometimes kids leave the gates open, or leave trash, or take the rope that we used to leave tied to the tree down there. Sometimes they are very good and repectful, but it's hard to tell the difference from a one time meeting.
It got better when my brothers got older and were frieds with most of the boys in town (more boys than girls by far would spend time in the creek--some sort of macho thing maybe--or survivor instinct or something). Then the kids knew my brothers and knew us and knew that the town was small enough that word would get back to us if anything went wrong.
But I didn't recognize the two sophomores when I opened the door. I don't spend a ton of time here anymore. In fact, most of the neighbors don't recognize me on the street. And some of my youngest brothers' friends don't even know he has an older sister.
So I go to ask dad if it's okay to let them cross the property. He agrees, "It's probably Ryan. He lives down the street." So I deliver the message. They look like nice enough kids. I would have let them cross, too.
A half hour or so later I'm down at the creek with the dogs as Ryan (it did end up being him) and his friend come walking down. They have "tubed" down on a log which they lost just before they got to our place and walked the rest of the way. They are covered with goosebumps and bubbling with stories of their adventure as I start to talk with them once they've swam over to our side.
I remember when my brothers and I used to tube the creek several times a summer. Sometimes even a couple times in one day. The crisp snowmelt water felt so good on those 100+ degree days of dry heat. When B. was really small, mom wouldn't let him go by himself so he and I would have to share a tube. I wasn't always happy about this, but it usually turned out okay. He is now 6'5" and sharing a tube with him would be impossible.
When we got back to our familiar rock bed wall at the creek we'd stop by grabbing rocks as the current pushed us past. Depending on the level of the water it was sometimes tricky to catch the rocks and haul yourself and your tube out--especially if you had a little brother or inexperienced tuber with you that day.
I'd ushered many of my friends down the creek over the years. And those who didn't get to tube with us usually at least went for a dip with us and our happy labradors fetching sticks from the shore. In later years, I'd go down there with my boyfriends for some time away from the brothers and parents. These days I go down there with the dogs so they can cool off. It's too early in the year yet for me to swim--too cold--althought the days are warming up and I'm sure I'll be back in the creek soon.
The creek changes every few years when we have a big winter flood. When I was little there used to be a stand of trees with a small sandy beach at the other side. We would swim the cold water across and sun and play on the beach for hours at a time. Building tiny rivers of our own or just feeling the sand between our toes. The beach is gone now. I doubt if my youngest brother even remebers it very well now. The other side is now rock and the course of some of the water runs over it. The trees that were there have been washed out and smaller other trees grow out of the water now in their place.
Today we had another knock at the door. This time I recognized the visitor; it was D. G. from the corner house down the street. Many of the neighbors have changed over the 28 years my parents have lived here, but the G. were here before we were. I grew up playing with Danny's niece. Danny himself is probably in his 40s now. He is sunburned and red from a lifetime in the sun. He had driven up in his white truck with a fishing pole and tackle box in the back.
He has come to ask the same question the young boys were asking. And the same questions he himself has been asking for years, "Can I walk across your field to get to the creek?" Somethings never change.
We have had trouble with this in past years. Sometimes kids leave the gates open, or leave trash, or take the rope that we used to leave tied to the tree down there. Sometimes they are very good and repectful, but it's hard to tell the difference from a one time meeting.
It got better when my brothers got older and were frieds with most of the boys in town (more boys than girls by far would spend time in the creek--some sort of macho thing maybe--or survivor instinct or something). Then the kids knew my brothers and knew us and knew that the town was small enough that word would get back to us if anything went wrong.
But I didn't recognize the two sophomores when I opened the door. I don't spend a ton of time here anymore. In fact, most of the neighbors don't recognize me on the street. And some of my youngest brothers' friends don't even know he has an older sister.
So I go to ask dad if it's okay to let them cross the property. He agrees, "It's probably Ryan. He lives down the street." So I deliver the message. They look like nice enough kids. I would have let them cross, too.
A half hour or so later I'm down at the creek with the dogs as Ryan (it did end up being him) and his friend come walking down. They have "tubed" down on a log which they lost just before they got to our place and walked the rest of the way. They are covered with goosebumps and bubbling with stories of their adventure as I start to talk with them once they've swam over to our side.
I remember when my brothers and I used to tube the creek several times a summer. Sometimes even a couple times in one day. The crisp snowmelt water felt so good on those 100+ degree days of dry heat. When B. was really small, mom wouldn't let him go by himself so he and I would have to share a tube. I wasn't always happy about this, but it usually turned out okay. He is now 6'5" and sharing a tube with him would be impossible.
When we got back to our familiar rock bed wall at the creek we'd stop by grabbing rocks as the current pushed us past. Depending on the level of the water it was sometimes tricky to catch the rocks and haul yourself and your tube out--especially if you had a little brother or inexperienced tuber with you that day.
I'd ushered many of my friends down the creek over the years. And those who didn't get to tube with us usually at least went for a dip with us and our happy labradors fetching sticks from the shore. In later years, I'd go down there with my boyfriends for some time away from the brothers and parents. These days I go down there with the dogs so they can cool off. It's too early in the year yet for me to swim--too cold--althought the days are warming up and I'm sure I'll be back in the creek soon.
The creek changes every few years when we have a big winter flood. When I was little there used to be a stand of trees with a small sandy beach at the other side. We would swim the cold water across and sun and play on the beach for hours at a time. Building tiny rivers of our own or just feeling the sand between our toes. The beach is gone now. I doubt if my youngest brother even remebers it very well now. The other side is now rock and the course of some of the water runs over it. The trees that were there have been washed out and smaller other trees grow out of the water now in their place.
Today we had another knock at the door. This time I recognized the visitor; it was D. G. from the corner house down the street. Many of the neighbors have changed over the 28 years my parents have lived here, but the G. were here before we were. I grew up playing with Danny's niece. Danny himself is probably in his 40s now. He is sunburned and red from a lifetime in the sun. He had driven up in his white truck with a fishing pole and tackle box in the back.
He has come to ask the same question the young boys were asking. And the same questions he himself has been asking for years, "Can I walk across your field to get to the creek?" Somethings never change.
posted by S. at 10:19 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home