I frequently pass by Four Mile Creek and this week, as I looked out over the grey water, I was thrown down memory lane for a few moments.
The creek and ravine were our backyard when we were growing up. We literally spent hours stomping through the marshy undergrowth, splashing around in the creek and the pond that formed close to the embankment. Every spring, after days of torrential rains, the creek levels would rise and spill over the banks. After the waters receded, we kids would go hunt to see what treasures had been left behind. The usual tangled fishing lines would be wrapped around tree trunks and rogue branches like spider webs on steroids. Lures and bobbers would dangle like bright, red Christmas ornaments on the lifeless branches. We found a rusty old can with some Asian coins in it once. But one particular year, the flooding creek gave us the most amazing gift ever!
That Saturday morning, we made our way down the slippery ravine toward the creek. Half sliding, half falling with hitchhikers and burrs attaching to our clothes and tearing at our arms and legs, we finally reached the creek. What we saw then made us simultaneously stop in our tracks and stare!
Spewed onto the creek bed like Jonah from the whale, lay a beat-up little rowboat. It was filthy from being tossed and turned and caught up in the torrential currents resulting from days of endless rainfall. But to us, it was like winning the jackpot! My brother jumped in and pushed the boat completely out of the water while my sister and I tugged on land with all our might. Once it was completely out, we admired our newest find, overjoyed at the amazing treasure we had discovered. In bold, black marker, someone had written S.S. Willy on the bow!
My brother raced back up the ravine to grab some oars that my parents had stored in the garage loft while my sister and I did our best to wipe down the single plank seat by using our sleeves. My brother raced back in record time, his boots caked with mud and spattered up his clothes. Without even discussing it, we all put the S.S. Willy back into the water and began our adventure!
The creek was moving very swiftly, but it was still quite shallow and we had to maneuver around major debris that made our journey a difficult one. We worked hard trying to stay afloat in the tiny boat not meant to hold the weight of three growing children. Needless to say, we were soaked and muddy, blending nicely with the grey slick that covered the S.S. Willy.
Then we came across the biggest obstacle that put a sudden end to our jovial mood. A large maple had fallen straight across the creek, anchored on one side by its roots and resting its disheveled crown on the other side. The boat bumped to a rocky stop and we were forced to make a decision on how to proceed. We ended up climbing onto the slippery trunk and tried to lift the boat across the tree's enormous girth. Of course this plan did not work out the way we had imagined! We all slipped. I think my brother and sister got soakers (big deal, we were all wet) but I fell, arms flailing madly, right into the water! I remember coming up, spewing out creek water, utterly appalled and cold. Needless to say, that adventure was over for the day. My brother and sister screeched with laughter at my expense and I took what was left of my pride and high-tailed it, that is to say, my rubber boots squelched, all the way home to have a hot bath.
Sadly, the S.S. Willy was soon claimed back a few days later by another family living further down the creek. As an adult, I can say that day, forever imprinted in my brain, makes me wish for days where our kids didn't have electronics and social media to entertain them each day. Even though we didn't have cell phones to document our adventures with photos of our day on the creek, I can still clearly picture the S.S. Willy thirty-five years later...
Lolita Schimann Hale
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