The Mill Road Creek was only two blocks from our safe neighborhood back in the 50's, when the dozen or so kids from our street spent every summer day outdoors together. Sometimes we grew weary of bike riding and tag and hopscotch and conspired to go on more adventurous outings in forbidden territory.
The creek was just that - not a picturesque stream, not a poetic brook, no little waterfalls - it was only three or four steps wide and several inches deep and could be crossed by walking carefully over slippery stepping stones. Skunk cabbage and poison ivy were far more plentiful than buttercups and wild berries - no artist would set up an easel to paint here. But there were tadpoles to find and minnows - believe me, the allure was there. And so we promised not to go and then uncrossed our little fingers and went anyway! Of course, most of the time we returned muddy and broke out in poison ivy that necessitated our moms' purchases of Calomine lotion by the gallon, but once we had been chastised, we returned again in another week or so.

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