Summertime always reminds me of the creek that ran through our pasture and then all the way to the Tombigbee River. The creek was icy cold on a hot summer day. Dad made his own bridge across it that would be swept away nearly every spring with the heavy rains.
I’ve seen that creek as high as the railroad trestle that crossed it to the east. We were far enough into the Alabama coastal plains for the creek to have sugar white sand, soft as silk to little bare feet. Since the water was so cold, I would have to start off with a little tippy-toe. It was otherwise a full body shock to go in all at once.
Mom would watch us play while she sat in a folding chair and did her graduate school studying. She was working on a master’s degree in early childhood education.
We would have played all day at the creek if Mom would have let us. It was so much fun to chase water bugs and minnows. We would get a big, round, steel galvanized wash tub that Dad used as a feed bucket for the ponies and horses. Then we took turns floating down the creek in the tub. The creek wasn’t very deep, but if a cubic foot of water weighs 62.4 pounds, my 9-year-old self was light enough to float the craft.
If you find this hard to believe, consider concrete canoe races that engineering students have around here once a year. http://www.uah.edu/student_life/organizations/ASCE/
I don’t have a picture of the creek on hand. I think Mom has one in an album at her house that I’ll try to scan for you, later. Meanwhile, since I did mention horses, here are a couple of random pictures that you may like. They were taken from Gramma Findley’s back yard in 1968.