Floating Through Summer
During my childhood, a sunny, summer afternoon was often spent in the creek. Perhaps the terminology is a bit unusual for city dwellers, so let me define the word. A creek is bigger than a stream and smaller than a river but can be anywhere between the two in size (often called ‘crik’ by older folks in my little world). So there you go, don’t say you didn’t learn something today.
Anyway, my Daddy and I found ourselves happily packing for our outings nearly every weekend. Our schedule wasn’t full but quite leisurely back in those days, so it was not unusual to find ourselves sitting on the porch swing deciding now was as good a time as any to explore a new waterway.
Preparing for our adventure wasn’t overly time consuming and certainly not expensive. I would have never expected to pick up fast food on the way or anything of the kind. No, life was simple and we were content with that. Our food usually consisted of Vienna sausages (only learned the correct pronunciation to that one as an adult when it suddenly dawned on me the sausages might have been named after the location). Then we had pork and beans and crackers. A can of coke was an expected treat and always appreciated. This was all packaged up in a ziplock bag and carried with us on our creek hike. And nothing could have tasted any better than crackers, beans, and sausages.
Then, we got my tube prepared. I used a very basic inner tube, not your fancy pink flamingo my kids have in the pool but the black, smells like rubber variety. So we would blow up the tube and check for leaks and then attach a strong cord to it. Now this cord was tied to the tube on one end and to my Daddy’s belt loop on the other. Sound strange? The reasoning behind this bizarre plan was to ensure that this little, red-headed gal could float along and play while the fisherman took care of business. While it was shallow, I trotted along in my float from sand bar to sand bar looking for shells the raccoons had left behind after their midnight snack or maybe collecting shiny rocks the creek had smoothed over time. But when my toes left the creek bottom behind, Daddy never had to worry about me drowning. Nope, I just floated right on down the creek. It was ingenious really. We made do with what we had, that is one of the advantages of growing up in the country.
As far as clothing, I had some old shorts and t-shirts that Mama okayed for the occasion. Usually my clothes were hand me downs from older cousins. Don’t feel sorry for me over that comment. Getting hand me downs was one of the more exciting events in my young life! I still smile when I remember those bags filled with unknown and exciting treasures making their way to my bedroom floor. My cousin, Rita, was my childhood idol, always so stylish and fancy. So back to the clothes, there were approved play clothes and the “you better not let Mama see you wearing that dress” kind of clothes, and I knew which was which.
My wading shoes on my feet and a straw hat on my head completed the outfit. I don’t remember sunscreen being part of the ritual, although I imagine most of me was covered with the clothes plus the creek was typically shaded most of the way.
Now it was finally time to leave. Mama never accompanied us on our little trips, nor would I have thought to bring a friend or even want one. No, I loved this time with my Daddy. In those childhood years, I was what one might call a Daddy’s girl for sure. As a parent of teenagers and young adults, I finally understand the sad, almost rejected look on my Daddy’s face when I grew to think I was “too big” for such silliness as a walk through the creek. Oh to go back one more time…
Off we went, onward and upward! I don’t remember having music or headphones, no podcast or playlist. No, we just rode down the highways watching the sights go by, talking about the washed out ditches from the latest rain or laughing at the neighbor’s cow who seemed to find her way out of the pasture more often than not. We didn’t need to be entertained; we made the entertainment. We had an old jeep that was part and parcel of these weekend jaunts. It probably wouldn’t have made the journey to work or school dependably, so it was kept for the weekend. If it just up and quit on the way…and it did…well, that was just part of the adventure too. I remember one breakdown and walking up the road until we reached a house with folks in the yard. Never crossed our minds, or theirs, not to help or expect help. Back then, the community was fairly small and intimately acquainted (aka…everyone knew everyone’s business). Maybe that was aggravating to a grown up, but as a child I felt safe and secure knowing I was seen and known. Neighbors watched out for one another. That was our way of life, and it was good.
That old jeep has a fond place in my memories. I loved the sound of the engine chugging along. I’m pretty sure we were moving at a snail’s pace down the road, but that was the age of a maximum speed of 55mph and perfectly acceptable. Life moved at a slower pace, and so did our jeep.
When we made it to our chosen destination, it was always an off-road adventure that met us. I don’t think we had seat belts in that old jeep, but somehow we managed to hang on through those bumps and rough patches of dirt road. Even now, there’s just something about a dirt road that brings a rush of warm memories. There was never an issue with where to park, we were usually the only ones there. I guess it was someone’s private property, but maybe Daddy knew and got permission to be there. Or maybe he didn’t. It just wasn’t a big thing back then and back there. We got our food and floats and fishing gear together and headed for the creek. Oh I did forget to mention the worms. Yep, we had to have bait to catch those fish, and going to the store to pick it up would have been downright embarrassing. A fisherman or woman catches her own worms, of course she does. I loved digging in the warm, loose dirt for big, fat earthworms. I’ve always been a soft-hearted animal person, and even then tried not to think of those worms’ fate. Still, Mama’s fried fish was an appetizing incentive.
We were ready to go! We found a good entry place, not too steep and not too grown up with weeds, and in we got. That mountain water was cold in the hottest of summer weather. It never bothered me though! My freckled skin would turn purple with the chill, and still through chattering teeth, I would have insisted I was just fine. And I was.
We would stay in that old creek til it was almost dark. I don’t ever remember getting bored or asking if we were done yet. Even now, complaining to my Dad isn’t something I would easily do and certainly not back then. My imagination had plenty to occupy itself with as I imagined what the little woodland creatures might be doing and what the names of the old snakes slithering out on the limbs to stare at me might be. I usually had a pocketful of shells, rocks, and sticks to take home to show off and put in my little mason jar by my bed. And sometimes, sometimes I just did nothing. That seems a strange concept in our busy, keep it moving world. But I think being able to be alone with your thoughts and do…well nothing, is one of the keys to contentment we might have lost to the rat race era we live in today. I leaned back on my little inner tube and let the sun warm my face, and probably add a freckle or two, and just let my mind drift and dream. Ah…those were good days.
By the end of the day, the frogs were adding a chorus of sound to the already noisy crickets and katydids. Now I know the little katydids were rubbing their wings together to make their sounds, but back then I imagined all kinds of conversation going on in their little towns and villages. Those sounds let us know it was time, time to get out of the water with our wrinkled up fingers and toes and head for the jeep. I never thought to be afraid out there as the darkness fell. Even now, the woods don’t scare me; they surround me and comfort me.
We loaded up and headed for home. Our clothes were wet and dripping, but the old jeep didn’t care. It took us just as we were and never complained.
Home found my Mama, happy to see her wayward travelers safe once more, with supper on the table and the bathtub ready to be filled with warmth for my chilled little self. Afterward, thoroughly clean, I gobbled down every bite of fresh vegetables from our garden along with cornbread, always cornbread. Rarely did we have dessert, and I don’t remember missing a thing. We were on a health kick and didn’t even know it. Not that we didn’t go to the grocery store, but our staple food was from the garden, the creek, and the woods. It was good. It was healthy. And there was simply nothing better than Mama’s home cooking after a day of adventuring.
With a heart filled with joy and a belly replete with homemade food, my soft bed was a welcome end to a full day. Not every day was good, not every problem was solvable, and no home was without flaws, but that day and many like it created a memory I will cherish for a lifetime. It’s true what they say about not appreciating what you have until it’s gone. Summer never looks sweeter than in the cold of winter. We glance with nostalgia at grown-up children, remembering the tiny hands that no longer fit within our own. And we shed a tear as we realize the strong, steady hands of our parents will not always be there to pick us up when we fall. Time is a harsh taskmaster, slowing for none. Precious are the memories of yesterday, the hopes of tomorrow, but most of all the gift of today.
By: Robin:)