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Our Creek Is Full of Memories
- The University Press of Kentucky
- Chapter
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GEORGE LUSBY Our Creek Is Full of Memories From The Best of Crawfish and Minnows (2000) WHAT is THE DIFFERENCE between a creek and a river? Myth has it that to be a river, the stream must be at least 100 miles long. And according to this same myth, Elkhorn Creek falls one mile short of this magical distance, and therefore does not qualify as a river. All of this, however, is just a myth. The real difference between a creek and a river is memories. A creek has memories. A river has large boats and barges and pollution, but never memories. Elkhorn Creek is a treasury of memories for me. It was my family's park for our annual Fourth of July picnic. The cool spring below Degaris Mill dam provided the fresh drinking water and the spot to cool the watermelon we had lugged from across town with each child taking turns carrying it. The deep hole at Big Bend was the swimming pool for those skilled swimmers who could dive from the 10-foot platform attached between branches of that old sycamore tree that is now just a stump. The beginners, like myself, waded and learned to swim in Toad's Hole. It was not too deep, and best of all, the bullies usually were never there. The fondest memories of Elkhorn Creek, though, are the many, many hours my dad and I waded and fished together in this grand old stream. We caught fish by the hundreds. There were redeyes and bass, H5 catfish and carp. There were days when we got skunked. But there was never a day we didn't have a great time. For a young boy, this was what living was all about. There have been a lot of changes in Scott County since my boyhood days, but this creek and its memories seem to be the same. You don't catch nearly as many fish as you did years ago, and there is a lot more development along its banks. The boat ramps and fiberglass boats with high-powered motors have replaced our old leaky wooden boats and their back-breaking oars. But after all, Elkhorn Creek is a creek, and a creek is a place of memories, and memories never change and they never die. I still go back to these same secret holes that I fished nearly a half century ago. It is then that I am once again the little youngster fishing alongside my dad. We sometimes got caught in a storm or slipped and fell down and got soaking wet. We still joke about the heart attack he had while fishing—he wouldn't leave because the fish were hitting so good. Yes, there is still that 50cent bet on who would catch the biggest fish. Today we celebrate Father's Day. I think I'll eat supper a little early and head for a certain spot below Robinson Dam. I'll go alone, but I know for sure my old fishing buddy will be waiting there at the Cathole wondering what took me so long to get there. 146 OF WOODS & WATERS ...