written by Ray Justice

Growing up in Mt. Juliet most of my memories were of Cedar Creek. Because we didn’t have cell phones and only three TV channels, our fun was what we made it.
Our parents felt safe giving us the freedom to grow up and experience life in our little small town.

Every day was an adventure if we wanted to make it one and, as I grew older and had children of my own, it scared me to death that my kids would do the things I did.

For instance, Nonaville Road was gravel and it was tough to pedal a bicycle to Mr. England’s market on Nonaville Road to get a cold drink or a candy bar. I usually would sneak our horse, Lucky”, out of the pasture, throw a rope around her for a bridle and ride through Mr. Hewgley’s field to get there. Some might remember that market later was named Gass’ Grocery. Mr. Cecil Gass bought it and owned it for many years.

Swimming in Cedar Creek was the highlight. Knowing there were snakes in the water just wasn’t an issue. My Mother would go to the creek with us and we would sit at the “rocks” and throw our lines in the water and patiently wait for a fish to grab the bait and run. There was a snake that had a den right next to where she sat and her favorite saying was, “if it don’t bother me I won’t bother it”. If nothing was biting, Mom wouldn’t say a word when we pulled our bait in and jumped in the water.

The floods that everybody worries about now were another source of adventure for us as we would take our little 10 foot “john boat” and jump in, riding the “rapids”, all the way to Cedar Creek Boat Dock and then calling Dad to bring the truck to the boat dock to get us…and yes I did get my tail busted for that one. First thing to note…the “rapids” were brown, nasty, flood waters. Second, I spent the early portions of my boys lives in terror they would try it, also. They never called me, they’re still alive, and I don’t think I want to know the answer.

At 10 years old, I learned the “art” of fly fishing. There were no trout in Cedar Creek only what we called bream, bass, “shell crackers”, and other unidentified fish that would randomly hit what we were throwing. So many times, I walked from our house on Cedar Creek to the Mt. Juliet Little League Ballpark with a fly rod and a stringer and called Mom or Dad to come pick me up when I got there. I would have a stringer full of fish and a great sense of accomplishment that I had just walked the miles to the park and caught these fish. I was helping feed the family and at 10 years old that meant something. Looking back, I’m sure my Mother wasn’t very happy to have to clean all those fish, but she never complained.
Most folks have a “hometown”, a place they were raised where their childhood memories are engrained in their minds and life was simple. When friends, real friends, not social media friends, were all they had.
Those of us raised here have so many memories of what life was like back then. It was so simple and peaceful.

Mayberry had nothing on us because we were real.