Where I come from, c-r-e-e-k is pronounced “crick”. Kinda like how “roof” rhymes with “woof.”
I’m firmly of the opinion that there is no better source of entertainment for a kid than water. Even better, the amount is irrelevant. Give a kid a cup of water and it’s a magic potion. Give a kid a tub of water and it becomes an ocean full of high adventure. Give them a pool or more, and they create their own worlds.
We got to the creek a little after lunch time. The kids would have happily gone in without eating anything. The parents were a little savvier than that and made sure to get some nourishment in them. After they finished their sandwiches and drinks, we barely had a chance to spray them down with sunscreen. The water didn’t beckon, it was pulling at them like a black hole.
The parents joined them for a time as well. They searched for tadpoles and fish and crawdads. We turned over rocks and searched for whirlpools and deeper water. They pretended to slip and fall. I’m not sure why they felt the need for an excuse to get wet. They were in their swim suits. Like there was ever any chance they’d stay dry.
After exhausting the search for intriguing forms of life, they moved on to finding some areas with stronger currents that they could ride for awhile. They took turns “riding the rapids” and trying to catch each other’s hand as they went by. They took turns “surfing” through the currents.
When the water finally began to lose some of it’s allure, they made their way back to the shore and started practicing the fine art of skipping stones. First, the right kind of stone has to be found. Not to big for their hand, a side that’s almost completely flat (though a bit of a curve doesn’t hurt), and round like a dish. After that, comes the grip. Without the right grip, the stone won’t spin, and if it doesn’t spin, it won’t skip. And if it doesn’t skip; well, that just won’t do. Finally, there’s the throw. Not too far, not too close, not too fast, not too slow. Every stone is different, and every throw has to be just right for that stone. We spend a lifetime honing our stone skipping skills. That’s why we start ’em early. It never gets old.
Then, finally, after all the good stones have been mined from the shore and the water, we get one last treat. The boy turns a rock over and there’s a salamander. He found it and caught it. So what if he thought it was some kind of weird worm and didn’t realize it had legs until he picked it up. He shows his prize to anyone who is willing to look.
When the time to leave finally arrives, the boy and the lass are too tired to argue. So are their cousins. The youngest falls asleep almost immediately, and none of them make it back home awake. The best indicator of an afternoon well spent.