The Creek and The Trails

Growing up in Central Texas I was surrounded by a mostly unremarkable neighborhood backdrop. We lived in a nice, well kept, and mundane pocket of the city. Think of the kind of homes you find in a John Hughes movie or a 80’s sitcom with the Olsen twins. That’s the vibe of my childhood stomping grounds - an established outcrop of early 20th century residential normalcy. Respectable, perhaps even charming, but fairly boring.

Yet our neighborhood had two resources that rescued me - and many others - from bland anonymity. We had “The Creek” and “The Trails”.

These were two corners of natural wonder tucked away among the colonial and Tudor-revival homes. They were areas where my friends and I would gather, explore, hide, scheme, and play games.

“The Creek” was perhaps the more normal of the two plots of land. An open area carved out by a progressive land developer. It consisted of two blocks of park-like open space bisected by a small creek, with a small concrete bridge dividing the area into quadrants. You can see if for yourself below:

As kids, we used all of our creative powers named the area “The Creek". Whenever we were bored or trying to figure out something to do, the question of “Should we go to the Creek?” would inevitably arise.

It was our playground, a stage for our imaginations and the perfect backdrop for the minds of a bunch of 10-year old boys.

While cultivated and manicured to an extent, the Creek was surprisingly wild. We hunted for crawfish in the waters and examined the rock crevices for slugs, snakes, and frogs. The grassy slopes were decorated with mature pecan trees, and every fall we would scrounge for nuts in competition with the squirrels. In the spring the cottonwoods would seed and the area would be covered with feathery snow.

We would crawl under the bridge and make it our castle, or damn the creek by shaping the gravel, sending home-made styrofoam boats down the spillway. We would play with Star Wars figures among the rocks, re-enacting imaginary battles and crafting scenes that George Lucas never dreamed of...

One summer we constructed a 9-hole golf course and knocked golf balls across the landscape. I can personally attest to breaking at least one window in the neighboring houses as well as getting cold-cocked in the head with my friend’s attempt at a birdie.

Looking back on it now, that two block sliver of land taught me about urban planning, engineering, hydrology, ecology, and the bounty of nature. It turbo-charged our imaginations and provided relief from the boredom of a hot Texas summer.

Many years later I would work on a small engineering project to help rehabilitate and shape The Creek for the City. It was both rewarding, nostalgic, and a bit sad.

Nearby and upstream, “The Trails” offered another flavor of childhood paradise. Consisting of a couple of empty, overgrown lots tucked between homes and some commercial buildings, The Trails was a much wilder proposition. Several thickets of trees clumped together forming islands of greenery, with paths criss-crossing and winding through, giving the area its name.

While the Creek was open and peaceful, The Trails were mysterious and had a hint of danger. They were wilder, untamed. It was a neglected piece of land, the kind favored by drifters and the homeless. (We know, we found the remains of several encampments). It was the place to go to hide, sneak around, and play games like “Sardines” and various flavors of “War”. We built many a fort and had dozens of acorn battles, pelting on another with nuts, screaming and shooting through the underbrush, chasing and chasing until our lungs burst.

There was a treehouse built by unknown peers terrifyingly high. We would dare each other to climb the decaying steps to reach the platform above. It was a wonder none of us broke a limb crashing down from the rickety ladder. Yet it was a place of wonder. I remember climbing up there one day and coming face to face with a prehistoric looking bird. It turns out the treehouse was next to a seasonal heron colony, with dozens of nests. There in the middle of a City of 125,000 people was a natural wonder that few get to witness.

Later, in High School, I would use that treehouse and The Trails as the setting for a creative writing assignment for my English class. I got an ‘A’.

For a time we were obsessed with making movies - young hopeful Spielbergs or Coppolas with my Dad’s Super 8 camera and some early camcorders. The Trails stood in for Vietnam in our own knockoff of Platoon, or the lair of genetic mutants in one of many of our attempts at science fiction. We spent hours in the shrubs, wading through the streambed, using the broken walls and dilapidated buildings as backdrops for countless silly skits put to film.

Of course, this was the 70’s and the 80’s. Our parents never knew where we were. We would be gone for the day, trolling through a couple of simple pieces of land - playing and creating and exploring.

Put together, The Creek and The Trails provided my formative years with an unimaginable resource that is hard to come by today. They offered a blank canvas for the imagination, a strong lesson in the power of nature. We received the gift of freedom from the normal and an escape from mediocrity.

We were lucky. Too many childhoods today are over programmed and dictated by what’s expected. The geography of driveways, fenced yards, and sanitized playgrounds can only provide so much for a kid. To me, you need a little wildness nearby…a place that is dominated by nature yet accessible. A bit of terra incognita that stimulates discovery, growth, risk, and creativity.

I would not be the person I am today without those random pockets of nature, and am continually thankful for the many hours I spent there.

Farewell photo

A little slice of life, until next time…

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Disclaimer:

All content and opinions are solely those of the author (Jack), and not representative of my employer, former employers, anyone in Congress, my family, former college roommates, Baptists, the good citizens of Colorado, or my dog Mabel.