Behind our house we had a crick. That’s right, I spelled it the way we said it. It wasn’t creeeek. Ever. Just ask my sister. She’s adamant on this issue. The North Chuctanunda (Mohawk for stony) flowed down from the Adirondacks and wound its way through Galway, Hagaman and finally Amsterdam to the Mohawk River. As kids, we lived on that crick. Those who lived on the water had rock dams. We spent many hour building ours. Dad would always be like, “while you guys are playing in there, throw some rocks up on the dam.” And there were plenty of stones. The Chuctanunda lived up to its name. In fact, we wore old sneakers in the water as water shoes either hadn’t been invented or were way out of our budget. The crick was the perfect hiding spot for crayfish and guppies, and we spent so much time trying to catch them. They were fast, but we got pretty good and grabbing them. There were some sections that had soft mud, especially on the downstream side of the dam. Well, those who didn’t know any better or just forgot were usually in for a treat. I remember the first time I tried to wash the mud off… only it wasn’t coming off and when I went to rub it, it stretched. Oh yes… leeches. The worst was when they would get between your toes and Mom or Dad would have to pull them off. When we were little, this was so gross and traumatic. Maybe they used salt or vinegar? I forget.
Our house was built on a hill that sloped down to the crick. During the spring, the melting snow and rains would cause the crick to rise rapidly. It would be like a raging river. Never came near the house, but it was still scary to see. One spring, the water was rushing pretty good, and Dad got the idea to take a tube down the crick and have Mom pick him up at a nearby bridge. We wanted to go with him but he said no. He jumped in the tube and off he went. When he came back, he told us that it was good that we didn’t come because it was all he could do to hold on. He said there were trees down over the water and he almost got his head taken off and he barely was able to grab the bridge railing in time! I’m sure it was exhilarating but I don’t think mom was too much in favor of these shenanigans. There was a big tree down by the dam, and Dad tied a rope way up there for us to swing out over the water. The crick was fairly shallow during the summer. Enough to get wet and swim around, but only a couple feet in most places and even shallower in others. We had one area that we cleverly called “the deep part.” Well, one day, after begging him forever, Dad brought the backhoe down and dug out the “deep part” to about 7’ down. It was epic because then we could drop off the rope into the water. Of course Matt and I were always finding excuses to go in the water. We would ask Mom if we could go swimming, and if it wasn’t quite hot enough, she would say, you can only go wading. Well, you know how that went. Or we would build a raft out of a pallet and inner tubes, you know, so we “wouldn’t get wet” but Matt always seemed to fall in. And then I followed suit. One year Matt spent most of the summer trying to build a dugout canoe out of a hollow log. I don’t remember if he ever got that thing to float.
One year when we were young, dad built a dock and we kept the end-poles long to tie up the boat and throw the inner tubes over. Then he fashioned a flat-bottomed boat out of plywood with two bench seats and a long pole to move it around. We painted it a glossy grey and sealed it up real well. Being wood, it still leaked and we were always bailing that thing out with coffee cans. We loved it though and rowed all over out area between our dam and the neighbor’s dam. We lost it a few times during the spring floods, but dad always managed to rescue it downstream. One year it was gone for good, but we had lots of good memories on that boat.
Up and down the crick were these little islands, covered in bushes, trees, and tall grass mounds, they were so fun to explore and build forts on. Our island was Gilligan’s Island, then further downstream we had Treasure Island, Hidden Island, Mystery Island, and Adventure Island. Matt and I would walk up and down the crick for hours and what seemed for miles. We had little stick huts on a couple of them, covered in the tall grasses and branches. Downstream from us there was this section where the entire floor of the crick was massive slabs of rock. We would say, “Hey, let’s go down to the slab rock.” We were pretty inventive with our names, as you can tell.
In the winter, the crick would freeze, which was good because when we went sleigh riding (sledding) it was much more fun to be able to “make it to the crick” on the sleds. We also would go ice skating after clearing off a space with the snow shovels. Well one year it was a cold year, so Dad decided to put the ice to the test. He got his bulldozer out there and plowed off a fantastic ice rink for us. He said the ice was like a foot thick. We had ducks. Three of them, actually. Bossy, Pegleg, and Lophead, And when it would get super cold, sometimes they were not able to keep a hole open in the water. Dad would go down to the ice and chop a hole with his axe for the ducks. I remember one day it was 24 degrees below zero, and sure enough, those ducks were swimming around in that hole. Sadly, we did lose one duck when he went down under the water, got caught under the ice and could not resurface.
On the bank grew massive ferns and tons of beautiful blue forget-me-nots in the spring. Dad had rescued a set of concrete steps and stuck them in the bank overlooking the crick. There was a vintage blue metal and wood bench that sat there for years. Once there was a flagpole. Dad built a sweat lodge. Many conversations were had on those banks and while walking up and downstream, exploring and imagining. The crick was a constant in our lives… the sound of the running water, the sparkle of the sun glinting off the ripples, the beauty of the trees, the peace and serenity of just living on a little piece of water and experiencing all the good of growing up rural.
I so appreciate your style and imagery. You have an incredible ability to capture a moment, even more so when it’s so sentimental. Love the stories you’ve told about this place and the pictures you posted with the writing.
It’s also interesting to hear about how you were as a kid, man. It just boggles my mind since I’ve always been the kid and you the adult. I mean I’m not calling you old….but anyways it’s both strange and very sweet to see kid Joshua in these pics with family. I hope to visit that area some day and see it all. Hear more of these stories and what not 🙂
Thanks Zach! 😀
So many memories at your house. It was surely the “Gathering Place” and we had many wonderful times there. I love the pictures and your article is wonderful! Keep ’em coming, Josh! I really enjoy your writings. Love, Aunt Susan
Joshua !! No wonder you are such an adventurous young man. Love your writings about your growing up. I am sure many more are coming. Anxiously waiting.!!!