Many were the good times experienced at this creek! The icy water moved rapidly down this shallow, wide creek. I spent untold hours in those very rocks, sometimes playing intentionally, sometimes rescuing my book that I dropped (accidentally) while lying on the swinging bridge suspended above the rushing water. I loved listening to the bubbling, chattering, and general hubub of the water as it made its way elsewhere. Is there a better way to pass an afternoon than reading in the sunshine listening to that glorious sound? I didn’t think so then, and I don’t disagree now.
I slept fully clothed, and many’s the morning I pretended to still be asleep while calculating Mom’s location in the house. When I deemed her far enough from the front door, I would pick up my shoes and book, ease out the front door, closing it ever so gently. Then I would turn and run like mad, never hesitating as my bare feet slapped the edges and points of the rocks they flew across – for I must keep the wind rushing in my ears such that should Mom have called me I could honestly report that I never heard her. To the swinging bridge I would dash, blasting across the smooth wood slats as it swayed beneath me. Attaining the far side, my frantic pace continued until I had run far enough down the creek that the distance and rushing water were certain to drown out even the most bellowing yells of my name. When deemed safe, I would stop and bathe my burning feet in the cold water until the stinging subsided, pulling my cherished book to my lap and celebrating my success as securing a morning alone to experience my own time travel through the pages of cream colored fiber and black font. Oh, those were the days!