The creeks of my childhood were narrow, irregular waterways, abounding with eels. To me and my little sisters, eels were anathema: writhing, sinister beings, lurking in the dark, tannin-stained waters, waiting to attack and devour us. 792 more words
June 7, 2015.
One hot summer day, we headed north to Summersville Lake to go to the Pirate’s Cove. To get there from south of Summersville, head north on I-19 and cross the bridge that goes over Summersville Lake. 248 more words
We puttered around the motorhome in the morning, getting some chores done. After lunch, we drove up to Big Creek to return a notebook of Big Creek history to Bob Taylor, the current campground host. 272 more words