It was a fun camping trip. Keith and Gale especially loved the creek! Dad tried to teach them to fish in the deep pool at the crossing where they camped. The water was shallow and sparkled over rocks where the road ran through the creek, but upstream it was deep, with quiet pools shadowed by overhanging trees.
Keith stood, hand in hand with dad, excitedly watching for fish. Dad tried to point them out to the little three year old, but they flashed by so quickly it was hard for Keith to see them.
Dad put a worm on a hook, and helped Keith hold it out over the water. Little fish nibbled at the worm, and suddenly the bobber was pulled under the water.
“Look, you’ve got a bite,” Dad exclaimed as he helped Keith pull the line in. Slowly and carefully they reeled the little fish out of the stream, wiggling and splashing water all over. Keith jumped up and down on the bank.
“Mommy, mommy! I caught a fish! I caught a fish!” He chanted over and over again. Mom came running, caring Gale with her.
“My goodness! Look at that big fish!” she praised the little boy. “Grandma and Grandpa, come see Keith’s fish!
Later, everyone drove down to the property to explore some more. Grandma and Grandpa picked out a spot where they would build their cabin between a giant old sycamore tree in the back and a really big cedar tree in front. Dad and Grandpa chose a likely looking spot at the base of the hill to dig a well. A path was started, following along the side of the hill, and everyone climbed it to explore where Dad and Mom would build their cabin. Then, while dad and grandpa talked about digging a ditch to bring water to a garden, mom took the kids down to see the creek.
The creek was especially beautiful here. It came flowing out from beneath overhanging branches, running south until it turned sharply west at the base of the hill. Huge sycamore and oak trees grew here, some right on the edge of the creek, with limbs hanging out over deep pools. Further down the creek sparkled shallowly over white rocks, perfect for wading in the coming summer. Below the bend, two huge old trees grew on the south side of the creek. Swift flowing water had cut the soil out from beneath them, leaving their roots partially exposed, digging out a deep fishing hole.
Keith loved picking up rocks and throwing them as hard as he could into the water to see them splash. Sometimes he would pick up the biggest rock he could carry and drop it close to the water’s edge. If it didn’t fall into the rock at the side of the creek, it made a nice, big splash. Gale’s little hands couldn’t carry big rocks, but she delighted in picking up little pebbles and sticks and leaves, and throwing them towards the water. She wanted to be just like her big brother.
It was cold by the creek. The sun struggled to shine through the bare branches of the forest, and the ground was muddy. Mom had her hands full trying to keep little knees from getting muddy and little feet out of the water. Every time Keith picked up a big rock she checked underneath it for centipedes. She also tried to keep Gale from putting pebbles and sticks and leaves into her mouth. She was taking a really dirty stick out of Gales fingers when she realized that Keith was throwing a big, fist sized rock directly behind them. He thought it would make a nice splash when it hit the water, but it hit Gale’s head instead.
Mom never was sure which of the two children cried the hardest that day. Gale, with a welt the size of a goose egg rising on the side of her head, or Keith, who thought he’d killed his baby sister and couldn’t be comforted.
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