The Creek

There was a creek running through our town of Hurst. I have no idea if it had a name but if it did it's been bulldozed and buried along with the creek and all the pristine land running along side of it. I wish I had known the creek's name because it occupies so much of my memory.

I've told the story of the park close to our house on Elm Street. I've mentioned the trouble Glenn and I tended to get into at this park. The biggest reason we were supposed to stay away from the park is because we had to cross the creek to get there. Actually the creek was our favorite attraction. We would swing out over the creek on grapevines hanging from the old oak trees. We fished for crawdads and sometimes actually caught one or two. We waded and skipped stones. It was a wonderful pastime.

When we moved to New Mexico my parents rented out our house on Elm Street. They knew we wouldn't make Roswell our permanent home and they wanted to keep the house. It was kind of like home to us. Go figure... Anyway, we moved back to Hurst and the lease hadn't run out for our tenants. My folks found a house in a bit more "upscale" neighborhood on the south end of town for us to rent while we waited out the lease. As luck would have it, the creek....same creek, ran less than a hundred yards from this house. It took no time at all for Glenn and me to reintroduce ourselves to those muddy waters.

The creek on the south end of town was much more rugged than where we were used to playing. There were drop-offs into the water, deep areas, and lots of trees hanging overhead. It was actually a fairly dangerous place for kids to play. We loved it. In a matter of days we had the entire length of it between Redbud Drive and Woodland Avenue memorized. Because of the depth of the water and the oncoming cold weather we were a bit slow in getting soaked to the bone. I think it was about a week before I convinced Glenn, with a gentle nudge to his back, to take a jump. Luckily, the spot we chose for his little fall was fairly shallow. He managed to walk out of it, slipping and going under only twice. He chased me good-naturedly all over the neighborhood with that little shrieking thing he used to do with his voice. He kept repeating something about killing me slowly if he caught me. He was so much fun.

We never found any crawdads in this part of the creek. It was too hard being patient with a piece of string tied around a bit of bacon when the banks were so steep and slippery. What we did find was a path along the creek beaten down by what we figured must have been early explorers or grizzly bears. The path ran right along the edge of the creek. If you weren't familiar with the area it would be really easy to fall off and into the water. Glenn and I could walk it blindfolded within a week.

As the winter wore on my cousin Mike came for a weekend visit. It was bitterly cold on that Saturday morning. Sleet was falling off and on and we naturally thought we better go check out the creek. If there was ice on it we wanted to test it out. There was a thin layer of ice forming, about as much as we ever see on a body of water in Texas, but there was no way we could get on it. We were at a loss as to what we would do for fun. I thought for a minute and then challenged Mike to a race. First one to reach the bridge on Woodland Ave would not be a loser. I took off with Mike right behind me and Glenn right behind Mike. About forty yards or so into the run we came to the first of many cutouts, or washouts, in the path. The water was amazingly deep in each one of these cutouts for some reason but the deep water was nothing compared to the distance you fell before hitting the water. This first cutout was only about four feet across and I easily cleared it. Mike didn't know about it so one minute he was hot on my heels and the next he vanished.

In my defense I did have a fleeting feeling of guilt as I flew over the cutout. There was the possibility Mike wouldn't notice it in time...especially since Glenn or I neither one had mentioned it....and in fact, somewhere deep in my sub-conscience I planned it to turn out that way, but I did regret it some. As I turned around and saw Glenn looking down into those freezing waters and reaching for Mike I felt downright remorseful. But, think about it. Mike was going at such a pace that his feet ran out of dirt before his body got the message to stop. He didn't free fall into the creek. He more or less ricocheted from one wall of dirt to another until he finally hit the water. Had he been a steel ball in a pinball machine it would have sounded like, PING PING PING PING SPLASH!

I have to say, mainly because Mike never will, that he was about as funny as I've ever seen him. Did you know that freezing mud is really hard? Mike must bruise easily too. With purple bruises and blue lips he was a sight to behold. It was so funny I laughed while Glenn and I fished him out. I laughed all the way through the wooded area back to our house and I laughed as we walked into the kitchen and told the story to Mama. I sensed I might be in trouble when she didn't laugh with me but I knew her spankings never hurt. However, my Dad had taken a rare Saturday off and was sitting in the den and thinking to himself, "Boy I sure feel like spanking somebody today. Maybe Rusty will screw up." I made his day...