Paradise on Sugar Creek

Memorial Day 1980

 

I heard someone mention yesterday that Memorial Day is the unofficial beginning of summer.  I was instantly taken back to the days of camping and fishing on Sugar Creek with my husband and our family and friends.  Memorial Day was the absolute first day we could even consider swimming in that cold, cold water and even that deadline was iffy.  That first immersion took your breath away, especially the first of the season.  But on a hot day, there was nothing that felt as good.

When I married Robert, I gained entry to the wonderland that was his family property.  Sugar Creek wound through woods and pasture, offering up shady water holes where trout lay in wait for just the right lure to come along and sunny swimming holes for when the fish stopped biting or it was just too hot to care about fish.  There are no creeks on the farm where I grew up, so fishing was a new pastime for me and the nearest good swimming creek was a few miles away so I usually had to make do with the public swimming pool in town.  This place was paradise! 

The creek ran right alongside the road  and continued in front of the two houses where Robert’s parents and grandparents lived.  Our camping spot was on the edge of the pasture, only accessible by driving under a bridge over a rock covered surface didn't even really resemble a road.  You only knew it was passable (barely) if you were in on the secret and had permission to be there.

Most weekends during summer and early fall, we managed to spend some time at the creek, often camping along the banks for days at a time.  We had an old station wagon that could survive the rough trip into our preferred spot and we slept in the back on a pile of quilts.

At some point, we graduated to a tent with an air mattress that took up almost the whole floor space.  Then we bought the family pop-up camper, a stubborn device that had passed through half of Robert’s large extended family and almost resulted in divorce every time we had to put it up.  We eventually sold it to another unsuspecting member of the family and bought a regular travel trailer.

Days were spent wading for miles, fishing all the likely spots, then floating and swimming the wider and deeper sections for hours at a time.  Late in the afternoon, we would start thinking about food and Robert would build a fire for the cool night ahead.  Food never tasted so good as when it was cooked on a grill in the open air.  We learned to bury potatoes in the coals of the fire after lunch so we could have perfectly baked potatoes for supper.   If we were lucky, we would have trout or perch to go with the potatoes, but if not, steaks or chicken would do just fine.  Then we would sit for hours by the fire, listening to night sounds of birds, insects and the laps and ripples of the water that swept gently over the rocks on the way downstream.  Frogs croaked and whippoorwills called in the dusk.  Fireflies sparkled in the night and the stars have never since seemed as close as they did on those lazy nights.  We were young enough that summer seemed to last a lifetime.

Even the rain didn’t spoil our time at the creek.  A gentle rain made the fish bite, and there is no better feeling that being inside a tent that doesn’t leak during a summer shower.  And no matter how high the mercury rose, there was relief only a few steps away.  Mornings were crisp and fresh, with wisps rising off the water and the sun foretelling a perfect day.  We had some misadventures, but I don’t ever remember a bad camping trip.

Our friends and families often accompanied us on our trips.  My aunt and uncle and their family, for several years, planned a week’s vacation at the creek.  We still talk about those years and laugh about the time their kids were frightened in the night by a billy goat snuffling around the tent, or the night the younger son had a nightmare and tore the tent down on him and his brother in the middle of the night.  Some less adventurous friends came for a day at the creek.  They didn’t know what they were missing by leaving before dark.

Robert died in a wreck in 1985, lost way too early.   I’ve never been back since his mom moved away from her home overlooking Sugar Creek. The farm was sold, then sold again, and I have no idea who owns it now.  I hope they have had as many good times down there as we did. What I wouldn’t give for just one more night around a campfire beside that creek.

 

Serendipity

 

Serendipity

It has been just over ten years since we started down the path to securing a bronze statue of Minnie Pearl, known by her Centerville friends and family as Ophelia Colley Cannon, for the square in her hometown.  At times, we almost despaired of raising the money it would take, but last Friday, May 7, here we were at the end of the journey.  The statue would arrive from the foundry and be installed in front of the old courthouse.  A few people would be there, along with local press and our own camera crew, but it was a casual, unprogrammed event, mainly because we didn’t need a crowd to get in the way of equipment and much of the parking would be unavailable.   But, as the morning unfolded, it was obvious that someone, somewhere had made some plans.  Serendipity is one of my favorite words – small, unexpected blessings that happen if you know where to look.   The morning was full of those small, unexpected blessings.

It was a beautiful morning in the midst of several rainy days.  A bright blue cloudless sky, a cool breeze, and golden sunshine beaming down in approval.  And there was Minnie Pearl, my great-aunt, on her bench, on the trailer, waiting patiently to be hoisted to her new home in front of the courthouse.

When I got out of the truck and walked over to the site we had chosen, one of the first people I noticed was my cousin Tommy.  Now, Tommy is not just any cousin.  He practically grew up on our farm, following my daddy everywhere he went as soon as he was big enough.  “What are you doing here?”  I asked.

He motioned at the big blue tractor sitting beside the trailer holding Minnie.  “I’m running the tractor,” he said with a grin.  Turns out, the man scheduled to operate the tractor that would put the statue into place had fallen ill.  He called Tommy’s boss, who sent him over to take his place.  I almost burst into tears – how great to have someone so close to the family to be involved in such an important way!  Serendipity.

There was quite a spell of standing around waiting, while Carl, the man from the foundry, measured, drilled, tested, measured again and prepared to secure the bench to the concrete.  As we stood around, someone said, “Look!”  There was a beautiful yellow butterfly sampling the clover, practically at our feet.  Yellow was my great aunt’s favorite color.  An unexpected blessing.  Serendipity.

Just a few minutes later, Jennifer, who is the talented sculptor who created the statue, reached down and picked a four leaf clover.  “Look,” she said.  “You know that I added a four leaf clover to Minnie’s hat at the last minute.  And here is a real one.”  Another blessing.  Serendipity.

Final preparations were finished and it was time for action.  Carl and Tommy worked out how to strap up the statue for the move from the trailer to the concrete pad and Tommy climbed aboard the tractor.  He hoisted Minnie into the air, backed into position and set her down in her spot as easily as you would set a pot on a stove eye.  We applauded and he climbed down with a grin.  Tommy doesn’t talk a lot but he has the cutest grin.

I was the first person to sit on the bench beside Minnie for a picture.  Then we all took turns.  The local newspaper editor, who just happened to be Tommy’s dad, conducted interviews, the local radio station streamed the process, and just like that, the result we had worked for was there, ready for visitors.

Visitors were not long in coming.  By the time we were finished fastening the bolts, people were driving by and staring at the statue.  I wish we had a counter to record how many people sat on the bench and had a picture made.  From the beginning, I wanted a statue that would be personal for people.  I wanted people to sit and visit and remember.  Most of all, I wanted children to sit there and learn who Minnie Pearl was and be inspired to make their dreams come true, just as a little girl named Ophelia Colley from a small town dreamed a dream of being in show business and made that dream come true.

Almost immediately, pictures began to appear on facebook.  And the last of the unexpected blessings appeared.  I was eating lunch and there on my phone screen was a cute little blonde headed girl, sitting beside Minnie with one little hand tucked in the crook of her arm, looking into her face as if listening to a story.  It could almost have been my great aunt herself, back around 1917 or so, a small blonde headed girl thinking about a future that would eventually take her around the world and into the hearts of millions of fans. That was a blessing in itself, but when I realized who the little girl was, tears came into my eyes.  Tallulah is the great-granddaughter of one of Ophelia’s great friends from her past in Centerville, one of a group of bridge friends who continued to get together for years after Ophelia moved away from her hometown.  I was told that she had been with her uncle to sign up for kindergarten that morning and they stopped on the square for lunch.  They thought they were just coming for a burger to celebrate a milestone, but I know what brought them to that particular place at that particular time.  Serendipity.

Thanks to Mandy Blocker King, Hickman County Chamber of Commerce, for the great photographs!