McDowell Creek Falls County Park

McDowell Creek Falls County Park

We’re just outside Sweet Home
on back roads to McDowel Creek
and my dog Roger sways with the sharp curves
of my mom’s driving.
In his mouth, a favorite stuffed hedgehog
with its superhero cape.
I reach back from the passenger seat
to pet his black fur with the white specks
of nervous dandruff.

We park under the shade
of a maple tree,
and Mom grabs hold of Roger’s leash
as he tries to scramble over her
into the forest air
of an August Sunday.

Roger’s fur is turning gray around the mouth.
The tumors in his stomach
slow him down.
He stops to sniff a sapling
growing out of a decaying tree trunk
and then moves on to a pile of shit
left behind by another dog.

We come to a fork in the trail
and take the shorter path.
We pass stairs that
Dad used to walk up and down,
up and down,
trying to lose weight,
trying to escape
my Easter chocolate
and the cookies hidden in the freezer.

We cross a wooden bridge—
initials carved into the railings.
The creek below seems lower than usual.
I stop to take a picture of Mom
and Roger,
the last picture of him
before he had to wear my old t-shirts
to stop him from licking his fresh surgical wound.

We step off the bridge and I drag my hand
along a moss-covered tree—
then trip on an exposed root
that’s spray-painted neon pink.

I keep my eyes on the ground.
The sunlight filtering through the trees
projects patterns
like the kaleidoscope I got
at the elementary school book fair,
back when we had a dog named Lady
who died from cancer.
Our pastor gave me and my sister
a picture book called
Dog Heaven
which we flipped through once.

Down the trail we step aside
to let another family pass.
The creek trickles and wind rustles the ferns
growing beside the salmon berry bushes.
Something buzzes close to my ear
and I tense up, closing my eyes tight—
Mom says it’s just a honeybee
and gently shoos it away.

We approach the final bridge of the trail
and the rocks I scrambled down
last year when I followed my sister
to the swimming hole.
A rainbow reflected in the mist
at the base of the waterfall.
The freezing water numbed my legs.
My sister swam close to the descending water—
I stayed where my feet could touch the bottom.
From my place nearer to shore,
the crashing cascade
was deafening
but I could still hear my sister
calling for me to join her.
I waded back to dry rocks and found my towel.

The waterfall’s not as loud
as it was a year ago.
The sun’s not at the right angle
to create a rainbow in the mist.

The trail leads us back to the parking lot
with the public bathroom, a McDowell Creek map,
and Mom’s dirty, white minivan
named Biggie Pearl.
The rear door slides open.
Roger tries to jump in
and I lift his hind legs to help him.

Sadie Latimer is a third year English major at WOU who has “recently discovered a love for poetry.” She grew up in Lebanon, Oregon, where she and her family continue to enjoy hiking the nearby trails of McDowell Creek Falls. She also reads thriller novels and sings in WOU’s a cappella club.