A Boy and his "Crick"......

Many years ago, two young brothers set off on their daily adventures only to find that they lived less than a mile from a Creek.  With easy access from railroad tracks that ran virtually behind their house, they ventured often to this creek to catch tadpoles, crawdads/crayfish, or in general, just get wet as boys are wont to . Sometimes the creek was a raging running river swollen with rain runoff; sometimes it would only qualify as a crick or a dribble across rocks.  Sometimes they could play for hours, sometimes the local constabulary would interrupt their fun causing them to scramble up its banks elusively.  

As the years went on, they continued to visit the creek, but as time passed, their visits became less and less.  As sports and age caught up to them, the creek only became something to cross on their way between buildings in their High School career.  Then the creek became nothing but stories of "remember when you, me and Robbie went and......." and memories to be passed on to the future generation.  

A week ago, one young boy and his mother set out on an adventure to a local City park.  While the land had been there a while, and had oft been visited in the winter for sledding when the mother was significantly younger, the City park was only authorized after she had moved away.

The young boy quickly scanned for exciting things like Swings, Slides, and playground activities.  Disappointed, he looked at his mother and with a saddened look declared the park to probably be "lame".  Mom said "Come on, let's see what we can find", and with heavy steps, the boy followed his mother down a hill path.  "Look..there is bergamot!", she cried.  The boy looked at her with sad eyes that plainly said "whatever".

Then a huge butterfly crossed the meadow in front of him.  He began to laugh and chase this large beauty.  She followed him for a few steps, he followed her for a few steps.

"Listen little one", said the mother - for she had heard the sound of rushing water, and being familiar with where the path was heading, she knew what was to be found at the bend.  He quickly forgot the butterfly as he strained to hear what his mother heard.

"What is that?!" he cried.  

"A creek" she responded.  He dashed off the path, racing through what his mother knew was a small patch of poison ivy, along with a patch or two of active poison sumac.  It was okay though...there was a creek to be explored.

After tossing a few rocks in the water with the boy, she looked down the creek and saw what appeared to be a bridge.

It took coaxing to get this six year old boy away from his perch along the bank, but with prodding and the hope of skipping stones off a bridge, he reluctantly wandered further down the path with his Mom.

And what he found around the next bend was six-year old boy "glorious".  A shelter house.  A sea wall.  A path directly to the river full of the most perfect skipping stones ever.

With glee, he spent an hour with his piggies in the creek.  Stones flying everywhere into the water.  Laughter bubbling up from both him and his mother.  Water. Boy. Rocks.  Water. Wonder.  It seemed as if time had stopped for him

As he slowly walked away from the creek, he declared it perfect; he declared it "my special creek".  Upon the promise of his mother, he knew that he would return soon to "his creek".  This was his special place.

A day ago, two brothers set off on their daily adventures, and one of them found out from his younger brother that they lived less than a mile from a Creek.  With easy access from a church parking lot, they ventured down to this creek - older being led excitedly by the younger - to skip stones, laugh and play, and just get wet as boys are wont to do.  At points the creek was moving swiftly, but really it qualified as a crick - moving lazily across its riverbed rocks.  They played for what seemed hours, and no constabulary bothered them...for playing was encouraged in this special spot.  Yet still they scrambled up the banks...only to be drawn back to the water.  With much laughing, the younger threw rocks and skipped stones with the older - and a whole new generation found the joys of that little creek/crick, as their Uncles had before them.

And that little creek added to the history of these two brothers with future stores of "Remember when you, me Mom and Dad went and...."  and added glorious memories to be passed on to the future generation.
Two Brothers, Skipping Stones, and Making Memories
"I did it!  A Double Skip!"
No matter the age, a creek simply cannot be denied.
Skipping stones are for sharing....

Is there anything better.....


DF said...

Yes, I remember when Robbie, Rick, Mark, Scott, Will, Greg, Lyle, Rod, Bruce, Richard, (among the many) did this. It was up steam a bit further, between the Convent on one side and Sauter's on the other. The king has found our little secret.

Carol P. said...

And, while Mom was shopping at the FoodTown when it was on Monroe Street, I used to sneak out to toss stuff into North TenMile not very far from there. And to be amazed in the winter as the little tiny trickle turned into a hugely raging torrent....

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