Fencerows: A Walk-Through Interview with Cedar Creek
By John Luthens
Cedar Creek conducts its winding business through Ozaukee County. It loafs across the western county line in a family-run affair, smaller, and evenly-split between farmland and private residence. Further to the east, it incorporates the towns of Grafton and Cedarburg, where the breed of housing and business along the banks becomes leaner, meaner and wealthier.
Eventually, Cedar Creek feeds the Milwaukee River, which dumps into Lake Michigan, which is connected to heaven-only-knows how many exotic places, and I guess it goes to show that even a small, backwater-Wisconsin endeavor can end up in greatness.
The wilds of Cedar Creek.
As far as my own home section in Ozaukee County goes, Cedar Creek and I have never had a formal partnership. The water portion of the business itself runs green and weedy and nondescript. There are several public canoe launches along its course, but they always seemed to me a token offering. The creek in summer is not exactly a high-water conduit of exploration. I don’t recall ever seeing a canoe on it, I’ve certainly never seen a fisherman and, in fact, I’m quite certain I’ve never seen a fish.
I will concede that Cedar Creek has a rich history. It crosses beneath the last covered bridge in Wisconsin, a cedar-shingled, spanning beauty which was built in 1876. So if you love history, don’t really care for boating or fishing, or still drive a horse and buggy, then you’ll be pleased to know Cedar Creek has that going for it.
Late last week, with the holidays falling into the rearview mirror and temperatures rising into a January thaw, I finally decided to give Cedar Creek a walk-through interview. I harbored a gnawing suspicion that it would be like applying for a job without wanting to work there but, it was either that, or I was going to get stuck working to take down the Christmas lights. I naturally took the path of least resistance. And that path led to an ice-covered stretch of Cedar Creek.
Tracks in the snow across Cedar Creek.
I embarked from the fabled covered bridge at an overcast morning hour. I’d heard snowmobiles carving the creek on a regular schedule when there was enough snow cover and when temperatures were conducive to making solid ice. Like I said, it was a January thaw, so all was quiet. I’d go as far to say it was eerily quiet except for the runs of open water tinkling away along either bank.
I packed light for the four-mile hike back to my home in Grafton: a small pack with sandwiches and water, a notebook and a camera. The majority of pack space was devoted to extra socks, just in case. The water was shallow enough to not worry about mortal peril if the ice gave way, but wet and cold feet can up the ante on a four mile hike in a hurry.
My wife took one look at the ice and shook her head as she dropped me off at my starting point. You’re crazy,” was all she said. After she realized I wasn’t going to take down the Christmas lights, I think she was happy to be rid of me.
I tread lightly the first mile with my eyes turned downward. Open water rolled through windows in the ice. The creek that I thought so narrow and shallow suddenly seemed as wide and deep as the Nile River. Snow pellets beneath my boots sounded like gunfire and I could hear the winter sap in the trees cracking. It’s amazing how attuned your senses get when you are listening for something specific.
Beneath a highway bridge sheltered from snow cover, I got down on my belly and peered at the magnified leaves and weeds beneath the frozen glass. There was easily six inches of ice, and from then on, I walked easier and began using my eyes as well as my ears to take in the sights of Cedar Creek.
Subdivisions and farmland contested each other above the frozen banks. It appeared on the surface that they were fighting to a draw, but the amount of For Sale signs and the distant pounding of construction hammers told that the urban jungle was on the offensive. Still, there were signs that the creek was still wild. Tracks in the snow showed deer and fox, coyote and raccoon, along with untold wandering of turkey.
The stretch of my ice-walk interview with Cedar Creek that made the biggest impression happened in a flurry of activity along a rising a field of corn stubble. A flock of turkeys crossed the creek in front of me, followed by an owl swooping low, perching on a branch, and hooting away. A flock twenty crows came in next and started up a cawing racket in another tree, then, as if on cue, a deer bounded out of the bottoms and up the field. The whole thing was over before I even realized it happened.
It was three hours from the time I stepped beneath the covered bridge onto Cedar Creek until the time I walked through my front door in suburban Grafton. I’d like to think I came through the door with a better understanding. Outdoor employment is what you make of it. Even if it’s a simple adventure within reach of your own backyard, sometimes, all you need to do is apply.
There was daylight left to burn. I’d made good time on the ice and I’d never had to stop to put on dry socks. I had plenty of time to think these deep thoughts as I was enslaved in taking down the Christmas lights.