May 22, 2013

• Tide Mill

   

   

   

  There were a few places we’d visit before or after staying at Grandma’s house. A lot of times, we drove up to the top of the road and had Rawley’s (hot dogs and French fries… my mother loved their French fries!), and/or DairyQueen. Sometimes, we’d go to the stores in the Greens Farms area (a small strip mall), and then visit the stream around the side of the building (I think my whole family is obsessed with “watching the water”.).

   

  If it were warm enough, we’d park at Tide Mill in Southport. I don’t know what kind of mill it used to be; back in the early 1900s it was a tavern. Now, I believe it is all professional offices.

   

  None of that mattered to us. What we liked was that it was a large stone bridge over water.
  

  

   

  There used to be a sign there that listed all of the things that you could not do there, like swimming or clamming (I remember my mom telling us that it was because the DuPont company used to dump stuff into the water.). The first thing my older brothers would do when we got there was dive into the water. It used to make my mother nervous because of all of the sharp rocks below (never mind the chemicals).
  

   

  

   

   

  My younger brother, Tadpole and I never swam at Tide Mill. There were other things to keep us occupied while our older brothers broke the rules. Lots of little animals to look at. Birds, mostly. Squirrels. Lots of butterflies and dragonflies.

   

  On a sunny day, we’d pick up some Rawley’s to go, park at Tide Mill, and picnic.

   

  

   

   

  It was a day like that, spread out on a blanket, munching French fries, that a family of ducks came to visit us. They first appeared across the lot, coming up from under the bridge. They stopped to look at us.

   

  My father pointed to them and whispered, “Look. A mommy, a daddy and five kids. Just like us!”

   

  I giggled, still staring at the ducks. “Which one is me?” I asked.

   

  “I’m not sure,” Dad said.

   

  The ducks slowly made their way toward us; they seemed as interested in us as we were in them.

   

  “Do you think they want my French fries?” Tadpole asked.

   

  “Yeah!” I said, trying to be quiet, but too excited. “Can we feed the duckies, mom?”

   

  My mother thought a moment, and then smiled. “Just a few.”

   

  We were getting ready to toss the fries toward them. My father stopped us. “No,” he said. “Wait until they get closer. Don’t want to scare them off.”

   

  We stayed as still as we could. The ducks took a few steps and then stopped. They talked amongst themselves for a moment, and then took a few more steps. In a short while, they were within a yard of us.

   

  My father took a fry, slowly stretched his arm out, and dropped it on the ground. When the family of ducks didn’t run away, my mom, my younger brother and I followed suit.

   

  The daddy duck came forward first. He took a French fry and brought it two or three steps back to where his family was. As they ate it, he came back for more.

   

  We ended up sharing most of our food with them, delighted that we could watch the ducks so close up.

   

  When my older brothers came back from swimming, the ducks scrambled away. I was upset that they’d left. Dad said it was okay; they’d probably had enough to eat, anyway.

   

  Mom said, “We’ll probably see them again next Sunday.”

   

  We kept an eye out for the duck family whenever we went to Tide Mill. We never did see them again, but it was fun looking for them, and fun to talk about the day we once shared our lunch with another family of seven. 
  

   

  

   

   

  PHOTOS COURTESY TALLBOY, 2012
  

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  • 11:53 am
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