Brief Form Post # 36: Late August Afternoon along Indian Creek

I am pleased to add the 36th of my GBH Brief Form Posts (Less than five minutes to read!) to my website. I tend to get a bit wordy with my routine Posts. I don’t want my enthusiasm for thoroughness and detail to discourage readers. So, I will publish these brief Posts regularly.

On Friday, August 9, 2024, I stopped by Huntsville, Alabama’s Indian Creek Greenway to trek a couple of miles to capture images of mid-summer flowers, trees, seasonal breezes, and the mood of Indian Creek in the late afternoon shade. I focus this brief form Post on my creekside wanderings off of the greenway.

Here is the 59-second video that takes us from the greenway to Indian Creek:

 

I’ve seen the creek at this placid mid-summer level and I’ve visited the southern trailhead when flood water lapped at the signpost. An urban stream, Indian Creek flashes quickly with summer thunderstorm downpours and drenching winter and spring rains. On this August afternoon, the creek flowed placidly within its forest-sheltered bed and trickled to the right at a diversion deposited by a spring flood.

 

I recorded this 60-second video creekside:

 

I saw a short video recently. Its brief caption read, “A picture paints a thousanad words; a video is priceless.” I believe that by including these brief videos, I leave you with a deeper understanding of and appreciation for the beauty, magic, awe, inspiration, and wonder of the special places I visit here in my northern Alabama region. I remind readers that nothing in Nature is static. For example, Indian Creek is moody, showing this placid demeanor during the low flow of dry summer periods, and contrarily expressing flooding ferocity in response to summer downpurs and dormant season monsoonal spells.

I wondered when I spotted this 30-inch-diamter streambank sweetgum whether its scarred base evidenced floodwater debris battering, which would have made a convincing segue from the floodwater narrative. However, the tortured base is at 90 degrees to the stream flow. Instead, I have seen similar scarring on trees gnawed by beavers many years earlier. The chewing opens an infection court to decay fungi. Long after the guilty rodent fails to fell the tree and departs the scene, the scar persists and the wound deepens.

 

I return to the peaceful waters with this 40-second video:

 

This late summer creeping lilyturf in full flower caught my eye with its deep green grass-like foliage and sparkling white spikes. Even its name attracts and retains attention.

 

I leave you with this final 56-second video of streamside trees and the creek, a gnarled old easern red cedar, and a view back to the greenway:

 

While soothing and peaceful on this late summer afternoon, this is a harsh environment. Streambank scouring exposes roots. Flood-borne debris punishes trees and shrubs, and torrents power stream channel meanders that alter the creek’s passage across its wide floodplain. Again, nothing in Nature is static.

 

I accept the challenge of distilling these Brief-Form Posts into a single distinct reflection, a task far more elusive than assembling a dozen pithy statements. John Muir captured Nature sentiments far better than I, hence I borrow his reflection on flowing waters:

• The rivers flow not past, but through us, thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing.

[Note] I’m publishing this Post six weeks following my August 20, 2024 total right knee replacement surgery. Progressing rapidly, I will soon be surpassing the strength, endurance, and stability afforded me on August 9, when I plodded along Indian Creek to capture images and videos for the photo essay.