We found this place by accident seven or eight years ago. We were looking for a regular park to take our dogs to, and we guessed at the turns, stumbling here instead. It looks so different now from our first forays into the creek, photos of which I'll resurrect over time.
It's strange to think about it then, when our dogs were so youthful and peppy and we hadn't even married yet. Children? Not even a concept for us. And here's this gorgeous late summer trip we've made, and Maya is old enough to really start digging into the landscape.
We've got ourselves a good collection of water shoes and pants we don't mind destroying, so we get right into the creek and walk up and down as far as our littles can tolerate. I've always got that camera of mine and quite a few times, I'll squat in that chilly water to get a new angle.
I think of this as a kind of way of flower-pressing. Maya brings me flowers sometimes from preschool walks and she'll ask me to put them in my poetry book. She knows I fold a lot of plant life into my books, and she's sweet enough to want to fill them with me. But we can't keep and press everything, and it's sweet enough to leave what we can so the ecosystem can continue changing in its own way.
She gets her great energy from her father's side, but I think curiosity runs strong on both sides. I'm hoping to see enough changes in me that mean keeping up, that mean clamoring up tough slopes. Even at my best, I wasn't at where I imagine I'd like to be; I've always been most comfortable on the sofa scrutinizing a book. I'm willing to change in small, good ways.
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