In Which There Is A Creek

I am in Marlinton. I have so much to say, to tell. Too much. So I’m instead going to focus on one very small, very important thing. My creek.

This is my house. Not the big green one, the little white one hidden by the apple tree.  They are partially connected by a porch, but are otherwise completely separate.

We knew that our house had a creek in the backyard.  What we didn’t realize is that the creek actually flows UNDERNEATH the house.  I’m not going to lie, I picked my bedroom purely because I can see the creek directly beneath my window.  Wouldn’t you?

The window is my bedroom.  The creek is my creek.

The view from the other side.  Oh, and for the record, the water is GORGEOUS.  Clean and wonderful. I'd bathe in it if there wasn't a highway 50 feet away.

The view out my window.  Ignore the grossness, please.  I've only been in the house for about 22 hours.

I love you, little creek.  So much.  Your trickle makes me think it's raining all the time, but I'll get used to that.

Stay tuned: tomorrow it's time to meet the town.