It was a hot July day. I wanted to go by the creek to write and perhaps go swimming. So I finished my chores early and went out in the woods.

Along the creek bank, I saw a nice little surprise—a girl! She looked to be in her 20's. She was lying on a beach blanket. She was on her stomach with her bare feet propped in the air. In front of her was a notebook she was writing in.

"Hello," I said.

She looked up. "Oh, hi!"

"Hope I'm not disturbing you."

"No, not at all. Do you live around here?"

"Yes. In fact, my family owns this land."

"I didn't know that. Hope I'm not trespassing!"

"No, not at all. My name is John Walton. This is Walton Mountain."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Ellie Mae Dawson. I'm from Charlottesville."

"Glad to make your acquaintance."

We shook hands.

"Come here often?"

"Yes, I do. This area really gets my creative juices going."

"It does?"

"Yes. You see, I'm a poetess."

"A poetess?"

"That's right."

"Now, that's a coincidence; I'm a writer."

"Well, this is a small world!"

"Yes, it is!"

"Have you published anything, yet?"

"No, not yet. How about you?"

"I've had a couple poems published in Cross Currents. That's a literary magazine published out of Charlottesville."

"That's nice."

"I only got $10 each for them, but they also sent me 50 free issues of it."

"Sounds like a good deal to me."

"I've also given a few poetry readings at Boatwright University."

"Boatwright? I go to school there!"

"Wow, it really is a small world!"

"Yes, it is! Oh, excuse me, I'm going to go swimming. Want to join me?"

"It does look inviting!"

She got up. I put my things beside hers, and we walked into the water.

"It's freezing!" she said.

"It's coming straight down from the mountain. You'll get used to it, soon."

We waded out to where the water was a little deeper, and I got into it.

"Care to join me?"

"Not with this dress on! It does look inviting, though."

She stood by while I sat in the water. After a few minutes, I got up.

"There's something I want to show you."

"All right."

There was an area with a lot of silt and mud. I went there and walked in it. I liked to do that, occasionally.

"Join me."

"That does look fun!" She walked into the mud. "I feel like a little kid, playing in a mud puddle!"

"So do I! Hey, maybe you could write a poem about doing this!"

"Now, that sounds like a great idea!"

We "squelched around" for a bit, then got back in the water. Afterwards, we went back to where our stuff was. She let me use her towel to dry off.

She read a couple of her poems to me—both quite good—and I critiqued them. I, in turn, read one of my shorter pieces to her, and she critiqued it favorably.

"Do you think that magazine would be willing to publish one of my stories?"

"I don't see why not. I tell you what: Give me your address, and I'll mail you a copy of it."

"Sure, thanks."

I wrote my address in her notebook.

She began to put her shoes and socks back on. "Well, I've got to get going; my husband will be expecting his dinner."

This upset me! "Your husband?"

"I'm married! Didn't you see my ring?" She showed it to me.

"No, I didn't notice it."

"Oh, I've upset you, now!"

"No, not really. Well…maybe a little."

"Well, if I wasn't married, I'd go for you in an instant!"

This made me feel better, and I smiled. "Thanks! Can I walk with you back to your car?"

"Sure, you can."

A path led back to the main road, where her car was parked.

"Nice meeting you, John. And I promise I'll get that magazine out to you."

"Thanks. And nice meeting you, too."

She drove off, and I walked back to the house.

She was true to her word. A week later, I got a copy of the magazine from her. She autographed it and inscribed it "To John Walton. Thanks for a lovely afternoon. Love, Ellie Mae." I did get one of my stories published in it. Like her, I got $10 plus 50 free copies of the magazine.

We wrote to each other for a while. I even attended one of her poetry readings at Boatwright. She dedicated a poem to me; it was called "Mud Between my Toes." That made me feel really good!