Wednesday, August 19, 2009

I like fishin'

I like fishing. I know this seems like an obvious statement from a woman who's husband has aspirations of becoming a professional fisherman, but my love started long before that. I believe it all started with my Granny Getz. When we stayed with her in the summer time there was nothing better than her saying " better go get us some worms from the tub". Under neath the big maple tree was an old galvanized wash tub full of dirt. On the surface of the rich black soil was an old burlap bag that was always kept moist. Under the burlap Granny would put vegetable scraps, grass clippings and coffee grounds. She was a composter before it was 'in'. Peel back the burlap and the musty, earthy smell was better than an expensive perfume! In the dirt was the fattest, plumpest, wriggling night crawlers in Whitman county. We would gingerly pull out the worms and put them in a coffee can that she had fastened with a wire handle. "I think its time to go fishin!" she would say. The hook on the back porch held 'the hat'. Granny's gardening and fishing hat was a big, faded green, straw floppy hat with a polyester ties. She would plop on that hat and cinch up the ties and fasten it into a bow underneath her chin.
Gathering up her rusty teal green tackle box, our poles, worms, and a tin bucket we would head to the Penewawa Slough. Fishing with Granny was great but if you catch a catfish, watch out. Granny was scared to death of catfish. She kept a hammer in the tackle box. I think I learned my first cuss words watching Granny trying to whack catfish with that hammer! Just when you think it was dead, it would twitch and Granny would go again, "watch out, don't let it sting you, ugly big mouth bastards...." WHACK, WHACK, WHACK!

      I still have my pole from Granny. It is one of my prized possessions.
I also have her love of fishing.
 I remember her so intently tying on hooks, baiting with worms, fixing the bobber, and the most important part of fishing....listen. Listen to the birds, the wind, the rippling waves splash on the pebbles and lap the dock posts below our dangling legs. Listen to the mourning doves sing their song that sounds like a woman calling for someone. To this day when I hear a mourning dove, I think of Granny. Oh to feel the warm sun on our tanned arms, and marvel at what a perfect day this has been. If I had only known that at that moment I was creating memories that I would carry with me for the rest of my life, would I have done anything different? Said something I didn't say? Nope, I think Granny knew there was no way to make those days more perfect than that.

I miss you fishin buddy!

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