Once Upon That Creek of Mine

I can tell you one thing I remember–the creek, or crik as we called it; that place was heaven on earth. Only about a hundred yards behind our house, one could go there to fish or net crabs or skip rocks or just sit. I went to that place as far back as I can remember.

That place was my domain. My side of the crik was mostly a steep embankment about fifteen feet high. Rocks were plentiful because the top of the embankment made a railroad bed for the (now defunct) Norfolk and Western Railroad. None of us kids were afraid of trains because they rumbled over our heads (at about fifteen feet) on a daily basis. Leaning out over the banks were various scrub trees of maple and oak. Their location on the bank didn’t allow them to grow much bigger than six or eight inches in diameter. My favorite, though, were the mulberry trees, I could (and did) eat mulberries all day long. Also, there were some nice raspberry bushes, and to this day if I get to visit that creek in the Ohio summertime I still pick some of those berries to eat. I believe those berries are a sort of fountain of youth, as they always make me feel young again.

The creek itself was about one hundred feet wide, never varying much in width, winding through countryside, and town, under bridges and traffic, running here shallow and there deep to its final resting place in the Blanchard River. It usually ran fast enough to keep little rapids going in the shallows. The water was about six feet deep where I used to go. It was a wonderful place for catching bullhead, pumpkinseed, sunfish, or the occasional carp. Upstream about forty yards were rapids that offered a great place to wade. We kids had placed rocks in strategic locations so we could traverse the creek without getting wet. Of course, some of the rocks were tippy and some of the kids uncoordinated, and the water was as cold as ice. We loved to wade there anyway. The crabs were everywhere; a couple of kids dragging a six foot seine could net a hundred crabs in about five minutes. A bucket was all that was needed to have world class crab races. First, we scratched out about a four foot diameter circle with a rock, preferably on someone’s (usually ours) concrete driveway, then we put our favorite crabs in the middle. The first crab out was the winner. We just threw them back in the creek after that, so I guess the winning crab wasn’t so lucky since he got to perform over and over until he too was thrown back.

My dad would take me to the creek when I was little. It wasn’t until I was about fourteen or so that I was allowed to go back there without my dad. Of course I couldn’t go there by myself so I wouldn’t drown or something. Lots of times I didn’t ask (most of the time) and I got caught and was grounded a few times. Dad liked to fish and I liked to throw rocks. Oh I fished, but I just didn’t have the patience to sit still. My dad said I would scare all the fish, and he was probably right. I am not entirely convinced of that, though, because when I was about sixteen my friend Kenny and I were back there fishing, hoping to catch our dinner in bullheads. Well, his dad apparently hadn’t taken him fishin’ as much as my dad had taken me because all he wanted to do was fish. He had a bite and was intent on it. We both saw the water ripple where the bobber was jiggling. I said, “Let me throw this rock just on the other side of your bobber, It might scare the fish just when he’s nibblin’ your bait, and he might grab on to the hook.” Kenny was horrified; he was saying, “No, no” and “Shhh, be quiet; you’ll scare the fish.” I said, “Just let me try it once.” He said, “No, I think I almost got him.” Well I have been known to be persistent and this time was no different. I threw the rock and Kenny was trying hard to scream at me while whispering. The rock landed just on the other side of his bobber,a result of being a long time rock thrower. It must have scared the fish good cause it snatched his hook and bent Kenny’s pole nearly in two. He landed a nice size bullhead. I was laughing with joy and he was all excited. We both had fun and got to eat the fish. Kenny still insisted I shouldn’t throw rocks. I guess he was just brainwashed at an earlier age then I, because now I tell my kids to not throw rocks. It will scare the fish. I guess I feel like I have to impress them with at least some sort of knowledge.

I got so much enjoyment out of that creek. Fishing, crabbing, and  rock-throwing were just a few of the simple pleasures I derived from that sacred place. Tranquility, excitement, and joy I did find, once upon that creek of mine.