Love this! The grandkids will treasure this memory as much as I treasure the memories of fishing with my dad. He actually grew up in Boston but readily adapted to country life and I will always remember fishing and the thrill of the catch! It was either a catfish or a pumpkinseed.
My grandpa taught me to fish, too. Though he was the one who removed any caught fish. They had a cottage on a lake, and it was an event if we got up early, rowed out to "the spot", and dropped our lines. Otherwise, I fished from their dock. Grandpa was a good sport. I finally learned to bait my own hook, which involved letting a minnow flop around on the dock while I tried to hook it. If it was lucky, it would flop back into the water before I could snag it. When I did catch a fish, and grandpa was inside, I'd call up..."Grandpa, I caught a fish!" He'd come on down to unhook it and toss it back. I talked myself out of the reality of what happens when a hook is pulled out of the insides. I fished a lot. Us kids would make poles with sticks sometimes and we'd dig for worms as bait. They didn't work well, but it was more about the experience and acting like we had a job to do.
They were good memories, but I still don't like to bait hooks or unhook fish. I was relieved when my kids quickly lost interest in fishing after a couple of years.
I never heard the bobber credo. But anyway we swiftly moved on to a bubble, a wet fly, and casting. We kept the fish when they were legal and ate them. (My father kindly pried the skins from catfish. I still haven't ever done that.) My father once won a $5 bet-- lots in 1974 Southern Illinois-- by catching our dinner on the way home from campus. (We had a Very Good Spot.) Man, I could do with some bluegill or pumpkinseeds now.
The sad fact is I don't like fish as a meal. I avoid fish, as a rule, so fishing is really just a catch-and-release-and-frighten-the-fish experience for me. My grandfather was pure country and anything citified (automatic-shift cars, electric washing machines) was suspect.
Ah. I grew up in Southern Illinois but my father grew up in Cleveland, Ohio, so definitely citified.
You know, I actually remember my mother using a scrubbing board, and I used a toy one. (I'm pretty sure that's a commonplace for you, but I doubt they're common knowledge now. I just asked my 16yo son, who was to my surprise somewhat familiar with them, though he thought of them as "washing boards.")
Love this! The grandkids will treasure this memory as much as I treasure the memories of fishing with my dad. He actually grew up in Boston but readily adapted to country life and I will always remember fishing and the thrill of the catch! It was either a catfish or a pumpkinseed.
This is the first time I’ve heard of a pumpkinseed. Very cool!
I do love how you tell a story!
My grandpa taught me to fish, too. Though he was the one who removed any caught fish. They had a cottage on a lake, and it was an event if we got up early, rowed out to "the spot", and dropped our lines. Otherwise, I fished from their dock. Grandpa was a good sport. I finally learned to bait my own hook, which involved letting a minnow flop around on the dock while I tried to hook it. If it was lucky, it would flop back into the water before I could snag it. When I did catch a fish, and grandpa was inside, I'd call up..."Grandpa, I caught a fish!" He'd come on down to unhook it and toss it back. I talked myself out of the reality of what happens when a hook is pulled out of the insides. I fished a lot. Us kids would make poles with sticks sometimes and we'd dig for worms as bait. They didn't work well, but it was more about the experience and acting like we had a job to do.
They were good memories, but I still don't like to bait hooks or unhook fish. I was relieved when my kids quickly lost interest in fishing after a couple of years.
I took my son fishing and had a similar flying fish into a tree experience, and that pretty much cured him of any interest in it. Thank God.
I never heard the bobber credo. But anyway we swiftly moved on to a bubble, a wet fly, and casting. We kept the fish when they were legal and ate them. (My father kindly pried the skins from catfish. I still haven't ever done that.) My father once won a $5 bet-- lots in 1974 Southern Illinois-- by catching our dinner on the way home from campus. (We had a Very Good Spot.) Man, I could do with some bluegill or pumpkinseeds now.
The sad fact is I don't like fish as a meal. I avoid fish, as a rule, so fishing is really just a catch-and-release-and-frighten-the-fish experience for me. My grandfather was pure country and anything citified (automatic-shift cars, electric washing machines) was suspect.
Ah. I grew up in Southern Illinois but my father grew up in Cleveland, Ohio, so definitely citified.
You know, I actually remember my mother using a scrubbing board, and I used a toy one. (I'm pretty sure that's a commonplace for you, but I doubt they're common knowledge now. I just asked my 16yo son, who was to my surprise somewhat familiar with them, though he thought of them as "washing boards.")
Yep. I have one hanging in a bathroom now.
Beautiful story. They will remember that day all their lives.
That’s the idea, isn’t it? Make good memories.
I smiled through this whole story... the grandpa memories, his expressions, and the grandkids excitement. You spin a great tale. :)