My Dad, now 90 years old, told to me when I was about six
years old, that he and his brothers played along the Whetstone Creek. There was
a spot where Sam’s Creek intersected the Whetstone, where there was a deep pool
for swimming. The swimming hole was made by the presence of an old mill that
was once there. With the mill and millstone gone, all that remained was this
pit that was filled with the passing stream.
Dad said that he had hidden a jar of Indian-head pennies in
the creek bank somewhere along the Whetstone Creek.
We often embarked on searches along the creek trying to
locate the penny jar. So far as we know it might still be there.
Exploring the Whetstone, we discovered the best places to
fish. We discovered a steep embankment that was below the Rivercliff Cemetery. My
Mom is buried there with her parents, and many other relatives. It is as if she
is looking over the creek to see if her boys show up down there.
Anyway, there is a bend that is filled with soapstone. At
the bend, there is a hollow cave in the sandstone where one might see ice cycles
as late as June if there had been a hard winter. Grandpa said that was a good
place to get ice in the spring if you needed it for the icebox.
I used to go to the creek to contemplate as a boy. I laid
down on an old log to hear the sound of the creek rippling on the rocks. When
the sun shown on the log, I closed my eyes to feel the warmth and sometimes
dozed into a nap. I dreamt about the Indians who once lived here as I felt
their spirits and all of the spirits from the people buried in the plateau
above me.
I felt a raindrop and it awakened me like a tear shed from
heaven.
Don’t worry spirits, you are alive with me. Join the gentle flow of the Whetstone where life abounds forever.