a creek brooks favor of memory

Doug sent me a NYTimes piece on Four Mile Creek, which to many would be another nothing nowhere but to me is, as Craig Springer (Jerry's son?) so aptly put it by putting it like Neil Young put it: "In my mind I still need a place to go. All my changes were there."

And so some memories, which, rather than putting here to be recalled I am recalling, to be put here:

So many hikes, wading up and down stream.
Leaches.
Matt Deikar (sp?) swinging from a vine that collapsed in three pieces on him (it must have been 40 feet high and 4" thick and how he didn't break a rib I still don't know).
After the crash those kids died in down where Bohnam Road crosses it, finding a human eye in the mud.
Almost dying when Joe _____ (was it Adamak? that name is on the tip of my tongue - with the red hair) was so drunk in that crappy car of his (or Geoff Gutowski's?) on the same bridge (it does cross at a different angle than the rest of the road travels). The only time I ever did something really dumb regarding drinking and driving in Oxford - getting in a car with him - Jake Bowers and I got out after deciding it was that or die.
The spillway. Skating there, sliding down its mossy face. Staring forever at the water rushing over.
The inaugural YTO firebombings.
Seeing it flood.
Walking and wading the whole way from the lake home or from home to wherever that was it joined with what eventually became the Little Miami River (somewhere south of 73).
The Sycamores along where the stables where.
Stinging Nettles.
Swimming Holes - there were fewer than you would think that you could actually jump into.
Dead Fish ramp.
The Covered Bridge.
Taking pictures of Fawn Pittman there.
Trying to catch fish in our bare hands as they tried to swim up the spillway.
Catching crawdads.
Going to Solidarnosch soccer games.
The frontier house just beyond that little steel bridge with the wooden deck.
scrambling up the tributary to the bluffs at Peffer park, or going past the bluffs to the train tracks.
Throwing cans of warm beer at the trains.
Trilobytes. And those weird horn shaped crustaceans.
Wearing those black Chuck Taylors with no socks for wading shoes.
Finding really nice grey clay with no rocks and covering ourselves in it.

here's a link to the story, because it's worth not forgetting that others remember it too.