"That little thing I did back then inspired my father to do protests with others that were interested in saving the creek. Not long after that, the chemical plant became a waste water treatment facility for nature advocates and the multiple projects they would devote to the restoration of this creek", Martha said to her daughter as they got out of the car.
"Well, that's dramatic." Her daughter said back, listening to her mother as she followed her down the trail.
"It's still a little rough around the edges. The waste from the factory really did a number on this river. But with what your grandfather did and left for me, I think that we did pretty good." Martha says as her daughter steps in to see the spectacle of nature.
It was the same little rivulet traversing down from the mountaintops, slicing through the hills of the riverside, flowing with its majestic, lively and pure waters, effervescent with many creatures inhabiting it. The river rushed and roared, prowling through, possessing its energy and bearing its incandescent glimmer . It rushed delicately through a little pathway that had been built upon itself to repair what corrosive and problematic damage had been done to it before, pebbles whisking about in the under wash like little stars. The tributary flowed through the rocky riverbed, once just a turbid and riled depth of soot-hued substances. Amidst the velvety whirls of swan wedges, it sprouted alive with the breeze of spring. It was the same gigantic mold of liquid of diamond, stretching out across the horizon, a breathing elixir of life with every drop, welcoming every touch.
"Holy cow. This is far less normal than what I imagined a little creek would be. This is pretty great, actually." Her daughter said in complete and utter awe.
"It's way better than I used to imagine it being now." Her mother said back.
Martha was just a little girl with freckles.
She was nine years old.
Yet, with what she decided to do, she managed to do the impossible.
Her determination, aspirations and hope flourished with the simple little thing she did for all that she thought was a wonderful river did not deserve to be nothing more than a putrid, waste carrying sewage canal. The river was the glinting liquid silver-blue lifeblood of not only the forest but of the future that beholds the time when water will be worth more than diamonds.
Every drop counts.
YOU ARE READING
Girdle Creek
Non-FictionMartha loved the stories her father would tell her about Girdle Creek. The Girdle Creek was a wonderful spectacle of jewel blue, welcoming to the touch as her father tells her so. One day they went to visit this creek only to find the lifeblood of t...
