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 There is in the splashing of the creek a great
spray of diamonds. As each youngster sails like an astronaut out on
the tire swing, then releases the hold on the earth to flail,
suspended in time and space for that brief second or two, there is a
timelessness, a postponement of all things evil and destructive, an
affirmation of joy.
The swimming hole in Lewis Creek has been there since Indian times,
of course, and the tire swing was probably preceded by simply a rope
with knots in it. It is one of the summer lodestones of our
existence. Each summer we have to make our pilgrimage in the hot sun
to the hole below the little waterfall, to the place where Lewis
Creek widens and deepens for the benefit of hot, dry people before
becoming just a creek again. And in this widening of the creek, this
sacred place in our summer lives, we also play witness to the
passage of years.
Across the creek from the tree with the tire swing, the gravelly
bottom extends gently with almost no current for ten feet or so.
This is the baby beach, where squealing tots are allowed to cool off
without benefit (or hindrance) of any more covering than the smiles
of their parents. As the children grow, they venture farther out
into the current of the creek and test their strength against the
forces of nature. [to top of second
column] |
By the time a youngster is eight
or ten, the seduction of the tire swing becomes overwhelming and the
flailing of the arms and legs against the blue of the sky begin.
Later still, when gangliness becomes fluidity and sleekness, and we
want to make catlike moves to attract the opposite sex, the tire is
used as a swinging platform for exquisite dives into the deep part
of the creek where the big trout lie in cold holes.
And as we age, and we watch our children come to love the hole in
Lewis Creek, and as we sip lemonade in the shade as our
grandchildren work their ways up the swimming hole chain of life, we
can look at the splashing of the creek and see, with each sleek
dive, with each laughing bellyflop, the diamonds of the creek sent
skyward, and the laughter stays with us and keeps us strong and
makes us feel rich, and fortunate.
It is unnecessary to say the hole in Lewis Creek is an important
part of our lives, because it, along with so many other treasures of
the years, really is our lives.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to you by
Sweetgrass Mornings, by Slim Randles. See it at www.unmpress.com.
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