Creek Chronicles Continued

No one entirely owned the creek, but it was presumed to belong to whoever’s farm or property it ran through. I always thought of it as our creek, but I knew my great-grandmother had a creek north of ours, as did the Jagers, the Reeves, and so on. Various landowners took proprietary ownership of the creek as it flowed on towards the sea.

One afternoon, my friend Patricia and I played by Jacky Knight’s bridge. He’d built a sturdy bridge over the creek running through his property, which was next to our orchard and paddock. He used the bridge to access the acres he owned above the creek.

It was a lovely warm day, and Patricia and I decided we’d go for a swim. We were about 9 or 10 years old. Knowing full well we’d be in trouble if we went home with wet clothes, we stripped off, hanging our clothes on nearby trees. We hopped in the creek. It was cold, but neither of us would admit it. The first rule of childhood is never admitting when you’re freezing your bottoms off.

We splashed about, standing on rocks and playing. We were just about ready to call it a day when we heard a tractor approaching. To be precise, we could tell it was on the creek road — Jacky Knight’s Road. We headed for a deeper creek area, squatting down and immersing ourselves up to our noses. We could not be seen naked by Jacky Knight in his creek. Oh my, it was cold, but our fear was greater than our numbing feet.

The tractor stopped on the bridge, and we whispered we’d be seen. I felt an eel touch the calf of my leg, and…