For me, one the attractions of our new home after we moved out into the country has been the little stream running between the two houses on our “compound.” It kind of marks a loose boundary between our side (Elderbutlers) and their side (Youngerbutler/taylors), but that line is a very flexible one. One of the enjoyable challenges is that it is just big enough for the dog or the two boys to jump across while trying to avoid an extra bath but is not deep enough to be dangerous. Great hilarity resulted the one time a boy missed.
Endless winter rains kept it sloshing and gurgling, but as the sun and spring arrived, the stream settled down to a babble. Lately its waters have kept the bog around its banks moist, making good homes for the mudbugs, aka crawfish, that line its banks.
A friend who has known us for the almost twenty years we have lived in Hattiesburg asked me to describe our new place to her. Of course, I had to describe the stream. I told her it was not big enough to be a brook so I wasn’t sure what to call it. She said, “Virginia, it’s a ditch.”
I stand corrected, but I still remember studying the mighty Mississippi in school and being reminded by my teacher that at its beginnings it was only a tiny trickle of water (a ditch?) flowing into a little stream.
Okay, so we have a ditch, but it’s a really nice ditch. Next Friday, I will tell you of a treasure I found there. In the meantime, I’ve written a small verse in honor of our ditch.
Bubbling gurgling waters,
Traveling through the culvert,
Rippling over stones,
Feeding water to banks,
Home for the mudbugs.