The Creek - part two
Steve held up a baby food jar half-filled with clear liquid. We were in his father’s garage, preparing for a mid-winter’s evening foray across the creek to the edge of the woods, where we had constructed our first make-shift fort. He returned the can of camp stove fuel to its place beneath the workbench and assured me we would need this if we had trouble getting our campfire going. We hadn’t been to the fort in over a week, and it had snowed. Prudent forethought. The creek behind the neighbourhood of my adolescence was a much different place in winter. Gone were the insects and birds. The reptiles and amphibians were hibernating. The constraints of the canoe were abandoned; everywhere was accessible by foot. When conditions were right, not too much snow or wind during a decisive drop in temperature, the slack current of the wide channel would freeze to a crystal gloss. We’d skate and play hockey. First rule: everyone had to bring a puck. Errant shots co