Gone Fishing Down at the Creek

This is the only old photo I have that shows any inkling of where the creek that ran behind my grandparents' farmhouse was located. If you look beyond my older brother, the toddler in the photo, and my grandfather passing by on his tractor, a hint of  that creek can be seen beyond that overgrown field. 

When my cousins and I were growing up that creek, known as Sucker Creek for a reason, turned into a marvelous place to play no matter the season. We'd build hideaways along its banks out of the brush growing wild. We'd skate on it in the wintertime, even in the evenings. One of our uncles built us rafts out of telephone poles so using steel poles as steering devices, we'd travel about that creek on one adventure after another. And in the summertime before the creek dried up, we'd go fishing although looking back, I can't ever remember seeing a single fish swimming in that murky water.

But then, it wasn't the normal kind of fishing and we were just kids having fun. We'd get bamboo poles that belonged to a relative and kept in their garage. We never had lures or bait. No worms. No hooks. Nothing. We'd attach safety pins to the end of our lines which was string tied to the end of the bamboo poles. Then we'd go down to the creek and stand or sit on the rickety old plank bridge and go fishing, our version of fishing. More than once our hook would get stuck in some creek grass or an old log or the plank bridge or some leaves hanging from trees. Most times we'd have to walk into the creek to rescue our safety pins. We never thought about the blood suckers. We never had too many safety pins so they were quite valuable to us. It was thrilling to cast our strings into the water and wait to see if we had a nibble. 

I can't ever remember any nibbles. 

I can remember lots of laughs and secrets told and lazy summer afternoons spent on a rickety old plank bridge fishing with my cousins.