Sunday

DeWitt Run

I told Mother I would meet them at church Sunday morning, but wound up sleeping through it. I went with them to the evening service instead, running into several old friends and acquaintances. My favorite encounter was with Shirley, a friendly woman in her sixties. She said, “You’ve put on some weight. It looks good.” Few people could say that convincingly, but she managed very well.
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Above is the creek that I played in as a child. In the summer we built dams, waded, caught crayfish and salamanders for our personal collections, and made elaborate stone houses for our little, plastic, dollhouse dolls, who all traveled by boat. I spent hours roaming the hill across the creek (pronounced "crick") when I should have been doing my homework. From there we carried endless buckets of water for the garden and for our chickens, rabbits, and dogs. When it rained a lot, we would watch for exotic debris. We would wade miles up and down the creek in search of clay, or the right smooth stone, or simply adventure or escape.
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