Flint Ridge

So in the spirit of recalling memories, I have one from the distant past. Well, really, this is more of an overview because this place was a sort of family tradition for years that just stopped at some point. I'm talking about a place on Highway 412 in Oklahoma called Flint Ridge.

It is my understanding that my parents managed to get in on the ground level in this place when it first came into being, and as property owners, we went up there over the summer and camped out, hiked on trails, and cooked over an open fire. They had pools, mini-golf, canoeing (which I did not like at the time), paddleboats, horseback riding, and I'm sure some other stuff that I don't recall. I recall it being fun to go. We looked forward to it.

Thinking about it now, I don't really know any of the details because it is a parents' job to keep the world fun for the child and disguise whatever else goes into life for a time. As such, I do not know if there were any costs or anything else associated with doing anything, but I don't think there was since I figure I would have heard of something over the several years when we went.

I also don't know why we stopped going. My knee jerk reaction is to say it was the birth of my sister, but I can quickly disprove that since I have a photo of us there in my Facebook albums when she was two and I was fourteen. Hence, the only logical explanation is that something within the family situation changed to disallow our going there. I ponder the time period following the last time I can confirm we went, and I don't have any idea.

As I picture the mini-golf course in my head and smile at the memory, I recall some conversation my parents had over Flint Ridge and something changing there. Perhaps they raised the rates or started charging for the services that were included for all those years. It happens, especially when a place gets big enough. Whatever it was, it was significant.

But many summers of my youth were spent there doing outdoorsy things.

What do I recall the most at this time? Something stupid, naturally. That would be canoeing down the Illinois River, but not the calm, easy ride that one might think of when one might ponder a canoe trip. Oh, heck no.

I recall being very young and screaming every time the canoe hit the rock bed of the river. I recall being scared out of my wits during the entire ride as my parents deftly navigated every obstacle the river offered from that low level where the canoe had to be dragged over those rocks to ensuring they got around tree branches in the water to making sure the canoe did not capsize at underwater obstacles we bumped into. At every turn, my poor parents had to deal with two frantic, screaming children who thought for sure they were going to die at any moment - life jackets or not. Unlike the time where Sassy Pants screaming bloody murder at the carnival rides but loved every moment, we were very happy when the multi-hour canoe ride was over and we were not interested in doing it again.

Of course they made us do it again the next year, but we still hated it.

In retrospect, it was probably fun, and I wish I had tried to enjoy it more, but little kids don't understand those sorts of things. The canoe was made of a heavy metal, was very buoyant and stable, and there was no chance of it being punctured or tipping over, so every fear was completely unfounded. That doesn't even include two loving people who would sacrifice themselves for the pair of screaming brats.

I occasionally think of Flint Ridge, and even asked about it once. I don't recall what my mother said about it though. I get so distracted sometimes. But it was a memory and experience that made me who I am.