Flashback Friday #41

The Creek

Hello all. I promised many moons ago a post about the creek that ran behind our house. That creek has been mentioned in Flashback Friday #17, 28, 32, 35, & 37 (and probably a few more that I missed). Here it is.

The creek that ran behind our house (a good half mile behind) was a feeder creek to Alum Creek. I'm thinking that it was a part of Big Walnut Creek. Under normal conditions, it didn't get much higher that my chest in any of the areas that we frequented. It was about 20-25" across. After storms, I've seen it jump it's banks and come up close to our back fence.

Anyone who has read these rambling reminisces knows that I can't swim. Why would someone who can't swim constantly be around a creek. Perhaps he's not the brightest crayon in the box? Or, could it be that it was so much fun back the that he couldn't stay away.

As long as I can remember, we were allowed to go back to the creek. Sir Gattabout always complained that I was too little and he didn't see why he had to watch me. Whenever he would threaten to throw me in, my fear of the water overrode my fear of him. "If you do, I'll tell Mom!" After the dunking I got in Flashback Friday #4, he could beat me up all he wanted, I didn't care to relive that.

In the spring, summer & fall, we would wade, skip rocks, make boats, look for stuff that washed down from upstream, catch crawdads or just lay on the banks with our feet hanging in the water. Sir Gattabout liked to fish, but never caught anything really worth taking home. We would also do crazy things like make a mudslide, and slide like otters into the creek (what a mess) or ride our bikes off the bank into the creek. When the creek overflowed, we would roll 55 gallon drums into the field behind us, and try to"ride the bronco". When you put a 55 gallon drum in water and then try to sit on it, the results are hysterical. It's a shame we didn't have a home movie camera.

One of the things that I enjoyed doing was making "Bigfoot" tracks. You do this by entering the water on the other bank, and get out where there is mud (firm mud, not the real squishy kind). As you exit the water, put all your weight on your heel, and put your other foot down normal. You then lift your heal and step down with your toes 11-12" from your heel. Adding an extra toe with your thumb was always good for an added measure. You then smoothed out where your stationery foot was and you've got yourself a "Bigfoot" track.

During the winter the creek froze over. Sometimes it wasn't very thick (we always had to tempt fate and see if it would support us) and other times it was quite thick. One time during a very frigid winter, we got a few days of warmth. The ice cracked and buckled. Like most Ohio winters, the warming trend didn't last. The ice refroze, forming weird silhouettes of upraised ice. Some of that ice was a foot thick. Sir Gattabout & I took a piece of log and used it as a battering ram to break off a piece of ice that was sticking up.

I think the most dangerous thing I ever did at the creek was cross it on a tree that fallen across it. What's the big deal, you may ask, doesn't everybody do that? I did it during spring thaw. The ground had become spongy causing a tree to fall. This was a new development from the last time I was there. A natural bridge (the real bridge was only 100 yards away). I got on that tree and straddled it, scooting myself across while icy torrents of water that hovered just over the freezing mark rushed beneath me. I got about five feet from the other side when the tree petered out and I would have had to wade to the shore. I then stood myself up, turned around, re-straddled the tree, and went back to the shore I came from. If I was my Dad, and found me doing that, I would have tanned my hide for sure. Had I fallen in, if I didn't drowned, hypothermia would have killed me.

I was at my parent's house last week and stopped on the one lane bridge that crosses the creek to snap a picture. I had considered walking back, but most of the neighbors who knew me as a child are gone. You tend to tolerate a little boy walking through your field much more that a 45 year old man.

This is the view from the cab of my truck. I spent many a day in the waters of that old creek. Did you have a natural playground like this when you were young?