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Poem

I am fourteen.
It’s a hot summer day in 1954.
My mother, father, two brothers, one sister, and I 
Pile into our 1952 Chevrolet station wagon
And head to Coady’s Creek in Perintown, Ohio.
It’s actually called Stone Lick Creek
But the Coady’s have a camp on it,
So we call it Coady’s Creek.
When we arrive, 
We all pile out of the station wagon
And head to the shack they call a camp.
Girls get to change first and boys second.
When it’s our turn,
We walk into the camp.
One big room full of cobwebs,
A stone fireplace at one end,
Two cots, a table, a couple of chairs.
It’s dark and stale wood smoke invades everything.
We change into our bathing suits.
Then we head to the crawl space beneath the camp.
We run as fast as we can
Stumbling over one another 
To claim our inner tubes.
The door creaks as we open it
And we stare through spider webs
Trying to find the best one.
I’m the oldest, so I usually get first choice.
Running along the stubbly path
Through the woods down to the creek,
We can’t wait to jump into the cool water.
Walking over the rough stones and murmuring riffles,
We head to the cold, sassy hole;
Our favorite swimming place.
We sit down in our inner tubes
And feel the cool water on our backsides.
Using our hands, we paddle upstream - backwards,
As each stroke makes us bob up and down
Like horses on a carousel.
The creek’s steep, wooded banks
On either side enclose us,
Making us feel sheltered.
The overhanging trees fashion a tunnel
As we make our way
To our secret swimming hole.
The three brothers and their little sister
In a line, like ducklings, bobbing up and down.
We are all splashing each other and smiling.  
Life is good.

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