Dairy Creek



This is where the old man came in handy…
We liked to fish – he liked to drive his brand new cars and he liked to watch us fish.
So every Sunday he would drive over to that family he lost in the divorce
and he would pick us boys up in that brand new Chevy Impala
and he would drive us out to Dairy Creek.
We would pull our poles and creels and fish tackle out of the trunk
and we would run down to the creek and go fish.

The old man would pull out his easel and his oil paints and his charcoal pencils
and he would sit down on a stump somewhere and light a cigarette
and pull the tab off a cold can of Oly.
and he would watch us wander off into that cool dark green tunnel swirling through alder
and berry bushes and ferns and he would look at something we could not see
and he would try to draw something which we never saw
and now that I am older than he was then, I can see that we will never see what he saw
When he watched us fish on Dairy Creek.


  1. Thanks, I needed that.
    Thank you for the image, the heart, the poetry of your writing.

  2. thank you..

  3. Suddenly, a cold can of Oly and a cancer stick sound really, really good. In the 60s, my dad would put a can of Oly in a paper sack as he drove us to our yearly June vacation up in the Sierras. Yep, there isn’t a Highway Patrolman in the world who can see through a paper sack.

    Nice post.


  4. brother likes this

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