The Creek and the Tree

There was a creek in the woods behind my house
It wound through the valley
Only four inches deep and two feet wide, in most places
Some parts were beautiful
There were occasional, deep pools that were fun to play in
They had minnows, which my little sister loved to catch
And we even came across a small waterfall, once.

Some parts of the creek were not beautiful
For many years before I was born,
Water had undercut the banks
Creating steep, ugly slopes of sheer dirt,
Five or ten or twenty feet high,
And constantly growing
The erosion took down trees, too
At least once every year, a tree at the top of one of those faces,
Would succumb to the river,
And fall across the stream with a mighty crash.

There was a tree,
That, when I was boy,
I noticed was being undercut by the creek
It had a tall, mighty trunk and beautiful roots
It did not even begin to branch until forty feet up
And there was nothing within my imagination that could harm that tree,
Except for the creek

I set to work protecting the tree
Spending afternoon hours moving dirt, rock, vegetation
To protect the tree against the waters
The water was cold,
Making my feet red and numb except for on the hottest of summer days
My walking would stir up dirt, caking to my sandals,
Making them stained and rancid, unable to be worn in public
The flies were probably the worst part
Every day from June ‘til September,
All of my socks and collars would itch from the bug bites
For the first few years, there was also a nagging fear of crayfish
That every time I picked up a rock, there might be a sharp pinch a moment later.

The rain was a frequent setback
Storms would create a torrent, swelling the creek’s dimensions
And carrying hours, sometimes weeks, of work down the stream
And knocking down more trees
In ninth grade science class, we learned that erosion was inevitable
That it was an inherent principle to all rivers (and creeks)
Nevertheless, I kept working
I knew what would happen after I finished high school and left for the University
If no one were to tend to the bank
Still, I hoped that someone would care enough to maintain what I had accomplished
Even build upon it
Or even do the same with another bank, another tree
Inspired by my work.
Regardless, I had bought time, preserved beauty
And I was proud of that.

A week before I left for the University, I walked by the creek one last time
Now, I walked along the side of the stream
Passing the tree along the side that faced away from the bank
My eyes spotted a small, bald strip on the tree
A barkless rut that ran up its side
My eyes followed, where I saw,
For the first time, that the tree had no leaves
Too much of the roots had been exposed
The tree was dead
And likely had been for a long time.