Creek Chronicles

Janice’s Tales

At the bottom of my grandparents’ apple orchard in Dover, Tasmania, there was a creek, or rivulet, as some chose to call it. This creek had run its course through Dover for so long that its origins were lost to time. This natural feature significantly shaped the experiences and emotional landscapes of those who lived nearby, including my grandfather, father and myself.

For my grandfather, the creek served multiple essential purposes. It was a potential source of trout, providing him with opportunities for fishing and throwing the dog in to it to bath him. Additionally, he monitored the creek vigilantly for signs of flooding, understanding the risks it posed to the surrounding land and community. He also took responsibility for maintaining the creek’s banks, ensuring they were cleared and stable to prevent erosion and promote a healthy ecosystem.

My father’s interactions with the creek were primarily centered around his passion for fishing, particularly for wild brown and rainbow trout. According to my grandmother, he set fishing lines overnight and during the day, monitoring them with unwavering dedication. An anecdote from my grandmother illustrates the creek’s allure and the familial tensions it sometimes caused: my father’s younger sister, seven years his junior, once followed him to the creek and was found roaming its banks at the age of four. Though she was unharmed, this incident became a legendary tale within our family.