Days passed rather rapidly after Jimmy returned to Owosso and the hottest days of summer were soon upon the little town. The natural thing for him to do was to look up his childhood pals and head for the river to fish and to swim. But try as he might, Jimmy could find nothing of his former Owosso pal, Charley Miller. It seemed that since Charley’s father had passed away no one had seen anything of the boy.
Perhaps the one thing which Jim loved above all else in his home town was the beautiful Shiawassee, glorious river of his childhood dreams, that flowed in graceful curves throughout the length of Owosso constantly beckoning him to its banks to swim and fish.
Owosso itself had prospered, of that there was little doubt. And its people had changed with the influx of prosperity. But to Jim Curwood it was home and when he grew older he was overheard to say:
“Many ties bind me to it and always I return there, no matter into what little-known byways of the world I wander. In Owosso I shall end my journey.”
J.C. WEBER.
It took young Jim just a couple of days to become readjusted to his old home town and again “Sparkling Waters” lured the youthful outdoorsman to its banks. This was the place where Charley and he had played before he had moved away to Ohio. The place where they hunted, trapped, fished and swam along its peaceful shores. There is little wonder why he always referred to it not only as “Sparkling Waters,” but also as his “river of dreams.” For it was along the banks of this river that many of his childhood dreams developed into realities and where he learned his first lesson about nature and the wilds he learned to love so well. It was here that the many stories that ran rampant in his childish mind later flowed from his pen.
The third day of his return found him with a pole and line headed for the river to fish. In those days he would lay his pole over his shoulder with the line dangling down and stroll through town barefooted. A typical “Tom Sawyer,” if the city of Owosso ever saw one.
His bare feet would saunter along the pavement but would step lightly when he came to cindered paths. He wore an old hat slouched down upon his sun-bleached hair which had no crown in it whatsoever. His pants-legs were torn and frayed and his shirt-tail was out in the back as always. Those truly were the glorious days of childhood.