This is an I-Heart podcast.

Guaranteed Human.

And we return to our American stories.

And up next, a story from Scott Jones.

Scott is the author of Growing Up Rural,

Lessons Learned for a Lifetime. And today he shares with us a story from his childhood about the

importance of truth entitled Dangling Feet. Take it away, Scott.

Straight north of our two-story stucco house is a large timbered area known as Illinois Grove.

The lower Minerva Creek runs through the extensive timber, winding and turning until it reaches the Iowa River.

This timbered area was my playground growing up with beautiful oak and walnut trees that seemed to reach to the heavens.

I would oftentimes go down to the creek in the summer and skip rocks over the water.

This particular winter day found the sky gray with intermediate snow flurries over a freshly fallen layer of beautiful snow from the night before.

I asked my dad if I could go down into the timber and just play around in the snow, throw sticks, and maybe see some squirrels and red-headed woodpeckers.

He didn't have a problem with that, but under one condition, that I would stay off the ice that

covered the creek during the winter months.

We had had a lot of rain that fall, and the Laura Minerva was higher than usual for this winter season. So I put on my

long underwear, pants, flannel shirt, and rubber buckle boots, and headed into my playground.

I followed the road zigzagging between fallen trees and branches until I reached the creek.

It was covered with a crystal smooth layer of beautiful ice.

I didn't own a pair of ice skates, but my rubber boots would work fine to slip and slide on the ice,

pretending to be a star hockey player. When you play against yourself, you can never lose.

I made my way onto the ice and was having the time of my life.

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