Featured General Town Crier Spring 2022 Uncategorized 

Loving Life in Town Creek

By David Wood

We are so lucky to live in our neighborhood. We are seven miles north of downtown Dallas, yet we can immerse ourselves in nature’s bounty traveling along any of our beloved creek paths. People are friendly, with strangers waving and saying hello as you pass by. (This would be considered suspicious behavior north of the Mason Dixon line.) For the last several months, I’ve been taking photos of some of the things you see in our neighborhood that define its unique charms.

I am not positive, but it seems like these identical, hand-crafted birdhouses appeared on the fence along the creek path from Branch Hollow Circle towards Whitehurst right after we’d been sheltering in place during the early stage of the pandemic. They brighten our day whenever Harrison Ford and I walk by them.

During the pandemic, cabin fever was quite contagious and many people conquered it by gathering in socially distant happy hour circles. I know of two that continue today–most Thursdays at 5:30 on Vista Oaks Drive and most Saturdays on Windy Knoll, weather permitting. Over time, these gatherings transformed very good neighbors into very good friends.

You see all kinds of wildlife along the creek. Owls, herons, bobcats, snakes, feral cats, cottontail rabbits and coyotes, to name a few. But there is only one Pegasus Unicorn; he used to live alongside the Meadowknoll trail, but he hasn’t been seen in some time.

The Town Creek Women’s Club surveys our neighborhood’s holiday decorations every year and awards coveted yard signs proclaiming the winners of various categories, such as Most Creative, Best Door, Best Lights, etc. I was shocked when this entry didn’t even score an honorable mention for “Well I Tried.”

We are fortunate to have bulk trash pick up once a month, and we are allowed to set it out on the curb a few days early. Some people interpret this convenient service as an invitation to drop their dog litter bags on top. Please don’t do this. The jaws of life on the sanitation truck are too large to pick them up and they invariably end up on the sidewalk where someone else (meaning me) has to clean up your mess.

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