By Miss June 2014, Laurie Marshall of Junque Rethunque and See Laurie Write
I’ll admit it: I have a fascination with creeks. It seems there have always been creeks around, no matter where I lived. When I was a child, we visited my grandparents in Goshen, Arkansas every summer and my grandmother would take me and my brothers for walks in the seasonal creek behind her house. We would hunt for turtles and learn about lichen and fungi and choose rocks to take back to her painting studio to decorate.
In a way, a creek helped define my role as a female.
When I was nine years old, I lived on a suburban street in Little Rock. That summer, a little gaggle of neighborhood kids gathered daily as soon as breakfast was eaten, and we would spend the day in someone’s carport, then someone else’s basement, then someone’s backyard… but I was soon to learn there was also a creek.
Laurie at 9 years old. Judging by the coat, we were outside in ALL seasons back in the dark ages.
The yards behind the houses at the end of the street backed up to a large privacy fence, and on the other side of the fence were the Ash boys. There were three boys in the Ash family, and I honestly don’t remember their names anymore. They lived in an older house behind the fence, and they introduced the neighborhood kids to the joys of tromping through the woods.
Of course, I felt like an expert Woods-woman, what with all the experience I had at my grandparents’, so when we came upon a creek during our adventure I simply jumped from rock to rock to get across. But one of the boys was sweet on my friend, Paige, and when she was nervous about jumping across the creek, he held out her hand and helped her across.
A little girl-sized lightbulb went off in my head and I realized that I had committed a terrible error. I tried to double-back with the naive hope that he’d hold his hand out to me too, but it didn’t work… And thus began my life as the Funny Friend, rather than the Lead Ingénue.
We moved out of that neighborhood when I was 10 and my parents divorced. At the time West Little Rock was still a little bit wild and there were large areas of land that were still undeveloped between Rodney Parham and Cantrell Blvd. Our next two homes – an apartment complex and another suburban house – both had creeks behind them. For me and my Barbie dolls (and Marie, and Cher), they were roaring rivers with sandy banks that provided the perfect spot to park the Country Camper.
When my girls were small we lived outside of Fayetteville on two acres that were gifted to me by my grandparents. Following in my grandmother’s footsteps, I introduced the girls to the creek in all seasons as we searching for turtles and speculated on which of the gnarled tree roots and limestone rock formations would be the best spot for a fairy house.
For the last seven years we have lived in Springdale, and my son has been somewhat deprived of the experience of creek walking. There are creeks within driving distance, and we have visited a couple, but it has been difficult to make the time to seek them out when I just want to spend an hour tossing rocks in the water.
The young Boychild does a little creek walking at Devil’s Den State Park.
Thankfully, the city of Springdale and the Illinois Watershed Partnership have spearheaded a massive clean-up and improvement of Lake Springdale, which is just a mile or so from my house. The Razorback Greenway will be running right alongside the creek that surrounds the lake, and there are already walking trails completed with a staircase that allows access to the creek bed when we feel like doing a little rock tossing and wild-flower admiring. I’m hoping to make a habit of it. How are you getting outside this summer? Any creek walking in your plans?
