When I think of my childhood, my memories often pull me back to a creek. Those were days when you could let the kids go out to play, not see them again until dinner time and not worry about it. If you couldn’t find me, I was in the creek.
Some of my happiest childhood memories had my feet in a creek. It was quiet, peaceful. I could be alone with whatever deep thoughts I might have had. (Boys, had to be boys.)
There’s still nothing quite as peaceful as a creek.
Yesterday we had a family reunion at my Aunt and Uncle’s house. They live along Scary Creek (misnamed, it’s beautiful), one of the creeks of my childhood. My daughters inherited my fascination with creeks, and after our Hellos to everyone we disappeared. Yep, if you can’t find us, we’re in the creek.
We listened to the birds. We peeked under rocks to find the quick little crawdads. Tiny minnows kissed my toes to see if I tasted good. The feel of smooth, wet rocks in cool water is a blessed relief on a hot day.
I loved seeing my girls’ attention captured by the creek. Tall One is especially drawn to water and anything that lives in it. My extra-girly Little One can’t even stay away. With our feet in the creek, I felt reconnected to them again.
I felt reconnected to me again, too.
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