I’ve been coming to the same stretch of Michigan sand every summer for 64 years. Although the dimensions of the beach have changed each year based on the depth of the lake, one thing hasn’t changed in 100 years: the creek.

As kids we played endlessly in Deer Creek, a shallow, moving mini-river of water flowing mysteriously out of dark woods into the lake. Despite summers when algae grew on its surface or bark turned the water brown, nothing could keep us out of that creek.

If we left the beach and followed it back into the deep woods where it was cool on hot days, we would find treasure beneath the water: minnows, sparkle-rocks and best of all, gray clay. During the carefree days before we hit the double-digit years, we were sure this clay was the key to flawless beauty. Working carefully on ourselves and each other to cover every square inch of exposed skin, we’d emerge from the woods looking like a potter’s wheel had gone berserk. A quick swim, however, would remedy the matter.

In the 1950’s, the creek mosquitoes were so thick we looked like a batch of measle-infected kids. One summer a dozen of us decided to follow the creek as far as we could, knowing it “went forever.” By the time we’d traveled less than a mile, stirring up mosquito nests all along the way, I had so many bites I actually became immune to them. After that, whenever a mosquito bit me, no red bump would develop. I tested it again and again, watching while the bug filled with my blood. The immunity is still good today.

Sometimes wild winds knocked trees down, placing them as perfect bridges. We’d run back and forth, competing to see who could cross the fastest before misstepping and crashing into the water. During moments of rest, we’d straddle the “bridge” and talk for hours, sharing childhood’s secrets. I credit our parents with the gift of letting us roam free. Not everyone is that fortunate.

Last summer Jack and I had a carefree adventure of our own. Since the creek flows through the woods directly behind our cottage, we decided to walk home from the beach in the creek. Between fallen trees, slippery rocks, tangled roots, knee-deep water and low-hanging branches, we barely made it. But I felt like a kid again, and it was worth the effort.

There aren’t many children following the creek these days. Maybe their parents are worrying about accidents and stitches. It’s a long way from the beach to the emergency room. Maybe they’re nervous about who else might be in the woods, although there’s never been an incident. Maybe the kids are all on the internet or playing video games. Whatever the reason, they’re missing out on one of summer’s delights.

My goal as a mom was to be sure our kids appreciated God’s handiwork the way I’d learned to do, motivating me to push/pull them outdoors. Even studying the tiny body of a mosquito teaches of God’s attention to detail and establishes admiration in the heart of a child. Although God fully understands the internet and should get full credit for the World Wide Web, catching minnows in a beach towel or harvesting a bucket of sticky clay beats computer fun any day.

“God saw all that he had made, and it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31)