I have been spending most of this unplanned vacation visiting with my parents and escaping from life's responsibilities. Today we took a family trip to Flint Creek Water Park. Our day turned out to be more like two hours because of a rain that would not end, but it was still nice to go. It brought back several memories from childhood. One of these memories has become a story that I often relate it to my students, to their great enjoyment. Because of this story, one of my students once convinced his grandmother to drive several miles out of their way in order to see the famous Flint Creek. I will share the story with all of you, in hopes that it will remind you of memories from your own past, memories that maybe you need to share with the next generation.
One very special Mississippi summer tradition was spending time at Flint Creek. We went on picnics after church on Sundays with extended family and friends.
We camped and swam and enjoyed every outdoor activity you can imagine. Back then, Flint Creek was simply a huge tent and camper campground surrounding a huge, quiet lake nestled in the piney woods of Wiggins, Mississippi. The three of us kids along with our mom would accompany another family of three kids and their mom for an awesome week of camping, swimming, bike riding, and eating. The other family, the Smiths, had a camper, and we had a spacious two-room tent. We would pack all of our stuff, including bikes into our station wagon and the Smith’s double-cab pick-up, which also pulled their camper. The fun began on the way up as the four oldest of the six kids got to ride in the back of the truck for the 45 minute drive north. We spent the entire 45 minutes pumping our arms up and down at truck drivers, signaling them to honk their horns for us.
Once we arrived, there was a rush to get unloaded, put the tent up, and arrange all of our belongings. We kids were wild with excitement, chomping at the bit to get into the water. Finally the moms were ready, and we hauled giant, black, rubber, truck inner-tubes spouting long metal intake valves to the nearest swimming area, racing like maniacs to be the first in the water. We floated, swam, dunked each other, jumped from the floating platform, flipped each other’s inner-tubes, and just generally enjoyed the lake.
When we had finally exhausted ourselves, we made our way back to our campsite and put away a mountain of sandwiches, chips, and homemade cookies. We would usually rest for a little while, playing games, reading, biking in circles around our campsite, or napping until we could return to the swimming hole for an afternoon repeat of the morning’s enjoyment. As evening approached, we knew the moms would prepare an amazing dinner with the goal of satisfying six starving children. After dinner we rode our bikes, ran around, or cooled off in the camper before finally crawling into our sleeping bags in the tent and falling asleep to the accompaniment of crickets, frogs, and the sound of the wind brushing through the pines.
One memorable summer, the moms thought it would be fun to ride our bikes around the lake. They had heard that a dirt trail went around the whole lake and thought it would be a fun early-morning activity. We, of course, were game. My sister, still too young to ride her own bike, was in a seat on the back of my mom’s bike, but the rest of us rode our own bikes. The eight of us set off right after breakfast. As we competed to be first in line or fell behind in order to race to catch up, we just enjoyed the fun of a new adventure. For the first hour... As time passed however, we gradually became less exuberant. We rode a little slower and let our moms take the lead. For the second hour... As more time passed, we began to regret not bringing more food and drink. We began to clamor for turning back, but our moms encouraged us to push forward, sure that we were close to the end. For the third hour... The trail began to close in with overhanging branches, and swarms of mosquitoes viciously attacked us. We had to push our bikes through narrow passes and across sandy ruts. The mild summer morning turned into a scorching, humid Mississippi day. The moms began to glance at each other and finally to question their knowledge of the length of the trail. There were some hysterics on my part; I was known for being the drama queen of the group. I wailed that we would never see our fathers or civilization ever again, would die of hunger or thirst, would be eaten by animals and never found. One of the boys suggested smoke signals to alert the authorities of our location. What had begun as an exciting adventure was quickly turning into the tragic ending of our short lives.
The moms made us push forward, hoping against hope that we were nearer to the end than to the beginning. We had eaten the sandwiches we brought for lunch and finished almost all the liquid refreshment we had brought along. The moms knew that the situation was desperate and seriously began to question what they would do if we didn't find the way out of our situation very soon. After about five hours, our trail intersected a small paved road, and we knew we had made it back to civilization. A little further on, we saw the camp office and began a tired celebration as we crossed the dam and headed toward our campsite. (I think I may even have jumped off my bike and kissed the ground.) We had survived! We tumbled tiredly off of our bikes, begged for food and water, and fell on the ground. Quickly the moms revived us with food and drink. As close to death as we had been, we were able to recuperate quickly. We enjoyed the rest of that week and several other camping trips after that, but there would never be another bike ride around Flint Creek. We began retelling our trip to each other almost immediately, making ourselves sound like the brave adventurers that we knew we were. We each now wore an unseen badge of honor, for we had made it around Flint Creek and lived to tell the story.
Flint Creek is huge and surrounded by dense forest as you can see from today's pictures below. I still wonder at the bravery (or idiocy) of those two women who set out with six children, not really knowing where they were going or how long it would take. I am forever grateful for the memory of this day, for the strength and courage it has always given me (I always knew if I could ride my bike around Flint Creek I could do anything!), for the sense of camaraderie and connectedness it brought to our two families, for the enjoyment the story has brought to so many of my students over the years, and maybe now for the smile it has brought to your face.
