The creek Surely one of nature's greatest blessings is a freshwater stream mousing its way quietly through the countryside and on down to the sea. The O'Shea homestead was so blessed, but it was a close call. A few feet more and we would have missed out on this little treasure which sliced off a tiny corner of our farm where it met the Iona road. This small waterway, referred to generally as "the creek", served as an important community utility before the advent of electricity and tap water systems. Horses en route frequently paused there to drink, pulling off the main road onto a sloping wagon path reserved for easy public access to the little river. At these same stops wooden wheels were tightened by their contact with the water, some of the looser ones being spun by hand a few turns extra to swell them out. The creek was a handy public source of water for spraying potatoes, whitewashing, general washing, watering animals and even for drinking in earlier times. Back on our farm, the animals had an easy approach to this stream, except in winter, since the front field was almost always reserved for pasture. For us youngsters the creek and its environs formed a curious piece of creation, an oasis of sorts away from the summer sun. Though alders made up the main growth of trees, rich grass and wildflowers carpeted the floor and thrived in its shade. In later years when Psalm 1 became one of my favorite passages of scripture, our little creek immediately came to mind in these lines which describe a happy person as one "like a tree that is