Where Does the Creek Begin?
In the following series of blogs, I’ll tell some of my family stories. What’s my purpose? To strike a chord with you with the thought, the hope, that you’ll remember your family stories. Better still, my hope is that you’ll tell your family stories to your children, your grandchildren, and even your great-grandchildren. It’s our stories that bind us together as family.
We didn’t have a lot growing up—just hand me downs, garden vegetables, and government staples. It was enough, though, particularly because we had the wide-open outdoors. My dad always believed we should get some of the country life.
So sometimes on a Saturday, when the routine of school days had passed, my brothers and sisters would gather for adventure. And when you’re a kid, there’s nothing better than exploring. Best of all, our explorations were never well planned. They were like spontaneous bursts of excitement.
One Saturday, for some reason, we ended up at the creek that ran through our property. Someone, and it had to be one of my older siblings, came up with the bright idea of following that creek to where it began.
So off we went. There were twists and turns. We hopped from rock to rock. We zigged and zagged, which meant we splashed as we slipped off those rocks and ended up in the creek. Sometimes we paused to observe water bugs skimming the surface. It was better still if we could happen on a frog, catch him, and hold him proudly by his hind legs.
Of course, every adventure is met with adversity. Some of that adversity existed in the form of sticker bush seeds that lodged painfully within our socks, or the thorns of hedge apple trees. Spider webs sometimes caught you full in the face and left you sputtering with cotton mouth. But still we persisted—ever deeper into the woods to places we’d never been.
We never did reach the beginning of the creek. I wonder sometimes what would have happened if we’d found it. But now decades later, I still remember our adventure, our exploration. And it is a good thing. It covers me like a blanket on a cold morning.
What are your stories—and have you told them?