This is Cherry Winche Creek not far from its junction with the Calcasieu River (in present day Allen Parish.)
This location would be near the fictional Arch and Mollie Weeks home. Here is Uncle Arch's explanation of the name of this stream:
Mollie waved her hand in mock disgust at Willard, and turned to Eliza, “Baby, have I ever told you how Cherry Winche Creek got its name?” Eliza had heard the same story by Aunt Mollie about a dozen times, but before she could reply, the old woman started, “Well, it was told to me that once on this creek, about five miles north of here, there lived a man who had a full-blooded Cherokee Indian wife. Some say he was a Negro. Others weren’t so sure, but his wife was definitely Indian. The man died suddenly and was buried along the creek. The Cherokee woman had nowhere to go and no family, so she stayed in their little cabin.
“Other arriving settlers began calling the creek that ‘Cherokee Woman’s Creek. ’Soon that got changed to Cherokee Wench’s Creek.”
“Other arriving settlers began calling the creek that ‘Cherokee Woman’s Creek. ’Soon that got changed to Cherokee Wench’s Creek.”
Eli, who was leaning on Aunt Mollie’s knee, asked, “What’s a wench?”
“Well, baby, it’s a word for a woman that kind of lives alone. It can mean several things—some of them not good. Pretty soon, the creek became known as Cherokee Winche’s Creek. That just naturally got shortened down to ‘Cherry Winche Creek. ’”
Uncle Arch, was ready to take on his wife’s Cherry Winche story: “No, no, no. That ain’t how it happened. My mom, who’d been told it by her mom, told me many times how the creek got its name. Here’s how it goes—”
“Archie Weeks, I ain’t through with my part.”
“Woman, you wouldn’t be through with it by dark . It’s my turn now.”
He turned to the helpless Eli, who glanced from one to the other, “Boy, this here’s the real story.”
Uncle Arch, was ready to take on his wife’s Cherry Winche story: “No, no, no. That ain’t how it happened. My mom, who’d been told it by her mom, told me many times how the creek got its name. Here’s how it goes—”
“Archie Weeks, I ain’t through with my part.”
“Woman, you wouldn’t be through with it by dark . It’s my turn now.”
He turned to the helpless Eli, who glanced from one to the other, “Boy, this here’s the real story.”
Aunt Mollie sadly shook her head as she yielded the floor. Eliza wondered if they argued like this even when no one else was present.
Arch said, “Son, it was named because of the cherry bark oaks that grow along its banks. They are the finest and straightest of the red oak family and are still common along here. The Indians, in their language, called it Cherry Bark Creek, and somehow got it scrambled up in English where it ended up being ‘Cherry Winche.’”
Mollie scoffed and commented as if her husband couldn’t hear her, “Last time he told the story he claimed it was wild cherry trees—Now it’s cherry bark oaks. The old feller can’t remember his own name half the time.”
Mollie scoffed and commented as if her husband couldn’t hear her, “Last time he told the story he claimed it was wild cherry trees—Now it’s cherry bark oaks. The old feller can’t remember his own name half the time.”
Their sparring continued with each other. Neither of them noticed what Eliza saw: Her dad and Eli were leaning on each other, both snoring softly.
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