Our Summer on the Creek

While floating on the creek, two hummingbirds buzzed over the labelia on the closest bank and then flew in circles over our heads. I do not remember seeing hummingbirds on the creek before, but this was a summer like no other.

We had decided early in the year when it was apparent that coronavirus was going to change our lives, that we were going to spend the summer at our favorite creek.

Floating in the creek and lying on the ground for hours each day, the birds got used to us being there. A hawk flew up and down the creek, each time changing height, looking for whatever food it could find. There was plenty of it. We heard bullfrogs and watched lizards run up and down the trees. We saw water snakes just before we got in the water a couple of times. A little farther down the creek, we saw a huge water moccasin lying on the bank, waiting for minnows to get too close. A little bit farther down the creek than that, in a sunny spot with high banks, is a turtle nesting area.

For a month, we wondered what big animal was providing the feast for the buzzards that circled above us.

Butterflies and dragonflies landed on us and stayed awhile.

Some big birds made a one-day appearance: when we heard a noise behind us, we turned our heads and caught a glimpse of a turkey, and on another day, we were lucky enough to see a great blue heron fly down the middle of the creek.

Smaller birds filled the trees until August, and then there were just a few birds. Things like that are noticed when not doing anything but lying on the ground and looking towards the sky.

We had just enough sun to get a tan without burning and enough shade when we wanted it. The creek was shaded, so the water never warmed up much. That was a good thing— like the feeling you get from opening a freezer on a hot summer day, but this feeling lasted as long as we stayed in the water.

Some days we were in the water at just the right time to enjoy a light show above us when light hit the water and reflected on tree leaves. Chirping birds in the trees added sound to the show.

Other than two overnights, we day camped. We had envisioned sleeping there more but did not think about how hot summers in Alabama in a tent were or how difficult it would be to find an air mattress that did not make us feel like we were either sleeping on a rock or inside one of those bouncing houses that parents rent for birthday parties.

We have a bed at home with all the bells and whistles, and that is what was on our mind at one o’clock one morning when we began talking about packing up and going back to our comfortable bed.

We could not find our flashlights in the dark and it was a cloudy night. At about the halfway spot on the trail, we missed a turn and ended up in the deep woods. Ok, no problem, there was a dry creek bed behind us, so we just followed it to where we missed the turn. Davy Crockett could not have done any better; when he was exploring this part of Alabama, he got lost in the woods near where we camped and almost died.

Not long after finding the trail again, we heard loud screaming from what we decided must have been a bobcat.

We talked and laughed the rest of the way home and registered more memories.

We should have gained weight this summer, but we lost a little. Kathy cooked enormously tasty things over a fire: chicken, steaks, ribs, pork chops, cod, baked potatoes, corn-on-the cob, and bluegills I had caught the day before. We toasted marshmallows, five at a time, on sticks. The twenty-five to thirty miles that we walked most weeks saved us from our gluttony.

The dogs enjoyed being away from dog food. We did not take them every time because they deal with the heat of the day less well than we do. The last time they were there with us, Maggie, usually the most obedient of our four dogs, became impatient and snatched a chicken breast from my hand. The dogs loved the creek— for them, it was a big dog park without any other pesty humans or strange dogs. They did as they pleased each day.

On one of our overnights the dogs camped with us. We were not entirely pleased with that night because Foster barked all night at lightning bugs, and the other dogs barked every time that they heard anything, which was often. Bella kept trying to get inside the tent with us and eventually succeeded.

One day in early August, Daisy, our oldest dog, took her last walk. After thirteen years of roaming the woods with us, she now goes no farther than a few feet from our front porch and watches as we leave out the back door with our other three dogs.

We did not see another human during our time on the creek, and we felt comfortable enough to live exactly as we do at home. We rarely even heard anything except the sounds of nature, our dogs when we took them, and aircraft over our heads. Once, a Medevac helicopter flew over that had me thinking about how quick a life can change: there we were in peace and happiness and someone else was in that helicopter was in dire need of medical care, maybe facing death if they did not get to where they were going quick enough.

Those days on the creek were peaceful, and we rarely mentioned coronavirus, except to acknowledge how nice it was to be away from all the craziness. It was a good thing that we could not connect to the Internet and an even better thing that we could not get on Facebook.

Of course, even though we did not talk about it, we worried there just as we did at home about the people we care about. The longer lives that we live today presents more people and their problems to worry about. There is a line in a Neil Young song that hits my head when I think about that:

“The moral of this story is try not to get too old, the more time you spend on earth, the more you see unfold.”

Most of us are going to ignore that advice, me included. Everybody wants to go to Heaven, but few people ever want to die. That being true, we must have reasons to live, not just breathe. Life as we knew it may never entirely come back— whatever floated your boat in 2019 might not be back anytime soon, so it only makes sense to find new things that makes life worth living.

Fortunately, for me the adjustment is not painful because I am married to an outdoorsy girl who is more fun than a barrel of monkeys.

We just spend more time outdoors and enjoy every minute of it.