Creekside Reflections

I think this creek is called Isaiah Creek (?)...On Y highway at one end of the loop of Y-3..at the bottom of the hill going up to yellow bldg site of origin of KC's on the Current

Visits to Ripley County to visit grandparents were adventures with a couple of distinct variations. Momo and Popo Pearson lived on A highway deep in snipe country. There were clusters of woods and lots of fields, tons of gardens and lots of pigs. And ponds.

Their house typified grandparents in the country: pot bellied heating stove, wood cook stove, well, outhouse, pretty trees and flowers, bountiful vegetable garden, white picket fence, wash tub for baths and a pond out back a ways that the pigs didn’t use. It was a destination for exploration and catching tadpoles, a place we let imaginations run right along with our feet, giving the screen door a rest and moving the rowdiness away from adult conversations.

Grandma and Grandpa Tom’s house was east of Doniphan. They operated a country store and garage. Momo Tom was an entrepreneur and Popo Tom the shade-tree mechanic. They had a cistern and for a while an outhouse. We loved ‘helping’ in the store, sweeping and dusting and staying out of the way. They had a nearby destination for exploration, too - a branch of Logan Creek.

It was a magical destination offering rocks and trees for crossings and dams, discovering all sorts of critters and imagining what was around the next bend shaded by overhanging limbs. No use telling us not to get wet; it would happen. I think it was magical for Mom, too, because I have recollections of her rolling up pant legs, slipping off shoes and joining us. (She spent part of her childhood/adolescence in the Bootheel. Ditches don’t have the same appeal).

Once our Uncle Jimmy took us on a creek float trip. He walked ahead pulling our tied inner tubes as we saw for real what was around those mysterious curves. It was as fantastic as our minds had imagined.

Anthony played in Quick Creek as a child, probably more often than permitted, but who can fault him for hunting for crawdads and creating his own adventures. Later we had ponds and branches of Fourche Creek on our farm. No matter I was all grown up, I had my favorite spots. Rock collecting, creating stepping-stone crossings and watching the beavers build their own dam still had major appeal, along with imagining what the farm was like in the ‘olden’ days.

In early springtime I find myself looking for those magical creek moments to reflect, imagine and create. It surprises me that I seldom find anyone else in those enchanted settings. They are especially bewitching in early spring with the redbud and dogwood dotting the banks and hillsides.

“I don’t have any regrets, because I think life is like a creek. It kind of meanders along, and you instinctively do the things you are meant to do.” Sissy Spacek