the cabin by the creek

My dad bought a cabin by the Conestoga Creek for $300 in 1944. I was six months old. In the years to follow I remember languid days of splashing up the dam, slick with moss, and feeling the rush of water through my toes. And picnics with creamy potato salad and chocolate cake with caramel icing. And sailing down a sliding board, hot to bare legs. And swinging on a long frayed rope. And laughing with aunts, uncles, cousins. And picking bluebells and buttercups. And innocence.