It all started when I decided to tell a story one day. I don't know what possessed me to do it. It just seemed like a really good idea at the time. It was just supposed to be a little fun. After all, what possible harm could come from just telling a little story? I really didn't mean for it to snowball and grow the way it did. I only meant to entertain my sisters and friends with a simple tale. However, the situation soon grew out of proportion.

You see out of all of us kids I was the one who spent the most time listening to the old folks tell tales about the old days, so I became a sort of expert on the "olden days". Well, a bunch of us were sitting underneath a rock cliff one day when one of the kids said, "I wonder how Silver Creek got its name?" My sister Teresa immediately replied, "I bet Beth knows. She knows everything about stuff like that." Now after my sister had made that statement I was bound and determined to come up with an explanation of how Silver Creek got its name. I knew it had to be a good story because Pam was from Jennies Creek and Ricky was from Marrowbone. Everyone knew that Jennies Creek got its name from Jenny Wiley who was held captive by the Indians there, and Marrowbone got its name because the first settlers there spent such a hard winter the first year that they had to suck the marrow out of the bones of the animals they killed in order to live 'til spring. So I definitely had to come up with something that would make an interesting story.

Before I had adequately thought through the consequences I just opened my mouth and the story just seemed to pop out, fully formed, and the Legend of Silver Creek was born. I claimed this story had been told to me by Ma Williamson who was dead at the time the story was told. This lent my story credibility from an established authority that was conveniently not available for questioning.

According to my legend, a young man came to settle in Silver Creek before anyone else ever lived there. He came to clear a trail, sow some fields, and build a cabin in preparation for his bride. The young man had brought a fortune in silver with him to get established, but at that time there were hardly any settlers or stores in the area, which meant the money was almost useless. Finally, he had built a home worthy of his bride. Unfortunately, it was going to take him nearly a week of riding to fetch her plus traveling time to return. The bags of silver were bulky and heavy, which meant that they would be an extra burden to carry on the trip. The young man also knew that if he left the bags at home then his money might be stolen. So he decided to hide the silver in one of the rock cliffs that abound on Silver Creek then get it back when he returned. But fate decided to intervene. On his way to get his bride the young man was attacked by Indians. Although he was mortally wounded he managed to make it to the village where his bride lived. He lived just long enough to whisper the story of the bags of silver to his true love before he passed away. Years passed before the girl's brothers returned to Silver Creek to search for his silver. Although they searched diligently among the cliffs they never found even a trace of those burlap bags full of silver. Throughout the years many have searched for the treasure, but no one has found it. Some say that the young man's ghost walks these hills still guarding his treasure. Others say that the young man's silver never existed at all, that he just said it did in order to impress his young bride. Regardless of truth, that is how Silver Creek got its name.

Well I had wanted to impress the others with my storytelling skills, and I sure did. Immediately the kids started forming treasure hunting groups. I went along with it because I did not want anyone to know that I had lied about knowing the story of Silver Creek. I thought this was a passing phase that would die in a day or two. Boy was I wrong! Every day there were more and more kids showing up after chores to look for the treasure. We climbed hills. We scaled rocks. We dug under rock overhangs. But there are many rock cliffs on Silver Creek, and even with a large number of kids searching after two weeks we had barely scratched the surface. By this time the grown-ups had figured out that something was going on, and the questioning began.

"What are you all doing?"

"Nothing."

"Well it sure seems like a whole lot of nothing. Are you sure that y'all aren't up to something?"

"Oh No. We aren't up to anything. We just like to play in the hills."

"Well you kids be careful."

And so it went day after day. You would think that I would be happy with the outcome of my story, but I was miserable. Not only had I told a lie. I had told a big lie. Never mind that it was meant as a story, not a lie, because in the end it had turned into a lie, and I had no idea of how to make it right. I couldn't very well say that it was all a big joke. All of my friends and my sisters had been searching and digging for weeks. I could not tell them they had worked that hard for a treasure that wasn't real. Besides, they would be sure to tell the grown-ups and then where would I be? Mommy would ground me and put me on house chores for a week. Daddy would dish out what he called "maple tea" but we called a whipping. Worst of all no one would ever listen to one of my stories again. I was definitely stuck between a rock and a hard place. Every day my feelings of guilt and fear grew. Finally, when I could not stand it anymore I went to my Grandma Bethane and told her the whole story. Imagine my surprise when she laughed and told me not to worry about it. She said, "Beth honey, those youngin's believed that story because they wanted to believe it, and they dig for that treasure everyday because they're having a good time. You were born to tell stories, and if you think your sisters and friends don't know that already then you don't know them as well as they know you. But if you're going to worry about it from now on whenever you decide to tell a story tell them up front that it's just a story, and if anyone asks if you made it up just say yes."

So I resolved that if any of the kids ever asked me if it was a true story I would say no. After a few more weeks everyone got tired of searching for buried treasure so we moved on to other games. No one ever did ask me whether or not the story was true, and years later when I assigned an oral history project to my students one of them reported on the various stories of how Silver Creek got its name. There in black and white was the story that I had made up years ago along with two other tales, one of an abandoned silver mine and another about the natural gas making the creek water look silver. I couldn't help but wonder if either of those other two stories was the product of a child's overactive imagination. I suppose I won't ever know.