Wading was one of our favorite pastimes.  We waded every body of water around Needmore. Creeks were a lot of fun. We loved to explore creeks and did so faithfully.  Not many rocks on Eagle Creek or Mitchell's Creek went unturned. We even found a murder weapon on one occasion.
Jack Thrasher and I found a rusted-out old shotgun under a large rock, just where Eagle Creek passed by the mouth of Dark Hollow. It still had the spent shell in the chamber. We laid it out on the gravel bar and forgot to take it home with us.
That night, I was telling my father about it and he remembered the unsolved murder that had taken place near there.  We told about it in the community and went back two days later to retrieve the old shotgun. Mysteriously, it had disappeared without a trace.
We waded ponds as well, but liked that less because of the presence of snakes and snapping turtles.  Still, we couldn't just leave them there unwaded. They needed wading and so we did it.
Our favorite wading took place at the old swamp. Not very much of Needmore was swampy land so we really had only one swamp to wade.  It was probably no larger than two acres but seemed like 20 to us.  We nervously explored every inch of it, always just a little anxious about the mystery of the place.  Who knew what scary, dark, foreboding, wonders lay just around the next willow tree in the muck of the old swamp?
Dooley and Cousin Billy Clyde tore a couple of limbs down the evening we heard the wild howling sound coming from the back side of the swamp.  I was proceeding calmly in front of them as we left the swamp, but I clearly heard the howling myself.
It must have been huge, hairy, and ferocious, judging from the sound it made.  We thought it could have been Bigfoot. We searched the back sid of the swamp the next day, with our hunting dogs by our side and our .22 rifles in our hands. I wasn't one little bit scared but I could tell Dooley and Billy Clyde were nervous wrecks.
The only tracks we found seemed to have been made by a number-eight, brogan  work shoe. Strangely, I had seen my dad come sneaking in from that direction, just the night before. Soon after we heard the awful screams. He wore number eight shoes. It was a wonder he didn't get et' by whatever it was we heard. He didn't much like for us to go wading in the swamp anyway.  I don't remember us going after that, but fear had little to do with us stopping the practice.
If God didn't watch over me, trouble would surely pull me under the murky waters of life.  He is always present, even when I am not aware of Him. Does God guide you in ways you don't even understand?