The place looks so pristine and inviting, so constant and enduring, I sometimes feel unworthy of it, as if an intruder, a riparian peeping Tom who should just catch a quick glimpse and leave. There is nothing here but the real world of trees, clear water, rocks as old as time, flickering birds, dancing insects and rising trout. There is hardly ever any evidence of the world beyond the road where I park my car — the congested and trashy, confusing and crazy, coughing and fuming, fossil-burning, nattering, head-banging world of 24-7 news and non-stop noise. Not in Father’s Day Creek. There’s nothing like that here, only profound tranquility. In these moments of quiet awe, to pull out a cell phone to take a call or to read a tweet from the human world would be sacrilege.
Published by Dan Rodricks
Dan Rodricks is a long-time columnist for The Baltimore Sun, winner of numerous national and regional journalism awards, a radio and TV personality, podcaster and fly angler. His narrative memoir, "Father's Day Creek," was published in May 2019 by Apprentice House at Loyola University Maryland. View all posts by Dan Rodricks