“Carefree Creeks”

By

Gerry Niskern

Do you have memories of playing in the creek (or should I say crick) as a child? If you do, you are truly blessed.

When I was a kid my sister and I fixed something to eat to take with us and started down through the meadow below our house most days in the summertime. I don’t remember the name of the creek that was our destination, or if it even had one, but it was our haven. We played in the water, built dams, skipped rocks, built little boat to sail in the slow current, and even tried to catch some minnows.

On weekends we piled into the car for long rides that always ended up at a stream for dad to do some fishing. I think that one was called Big Grave Creek. We usually wore our bathing  suits because we knew there would usually be a deep pool of water for swimming. I don’t know why we had to go that way, but I remember Dad saying, “Hold on kids, were’ turning on Salley’s Back Bone!” That was the title of the rockiest, bumpiest dirt road in the state and well named.

Later on, in Fourth grade on the last day of school, and we got out at noon, I had the most fun ever at Little Grave Creek. The fourth and fifth grade was together and we kids all agreed to meet at the creek (I don’t know why it was called Little Grave because it was big enough for swimming.) We gathered at the creek with our sandwiches and bottles of pop and stayed all afternoon swimming and whooping  at our summer of freedom starting! No parents, planning or permission slips required.

When we moved to Arizona Dad always insisted on driving up to Oak Creek to be there on the first day of Trout season. This required driving up to the canyon the night before and sleeping in the car to be the first on the stream at the crack of dawn on opening day!

A couple of years later when I was a teen I spend a wonderful week at a Methodist Church Camp at Seven Springs. No fancy dorms or even tents, just sleeping out under the stars in sleeping bags listening the sweet murmur of the brook.

Years later we took our young ones to Red Rock Crossing, South of Sedona on Oak  Creek. The kids, with inner tubes around them, scrambled over the red rock formations and jumped into the rapids for a thrilling ride down the water, again and again. When they were tired out at the end of the day and the campfire had burned low, we zipped the tent full of sleeping kids and stole down to the deep pool below the crossing and went skinny-dipping!

Do you have some sparkling streams  in your memories? I hope so.