There’s something so special about fishing. I think because it’s a skill handed down through generations, through millennia, from person to person. I’m sure there are books and videos about how to fish, but books don’t beam with pride the first time you bait a hook properly. I will never forget the look on my dad’s face when Mapes Jr baited their first hook at age 3. I don’t think the sun could ever shine as brightly as their smiles for each other.
Thank you Linda. They are beautiful, aren't they? Writing these funny and positive pieces has been part of what's keeping me afloat right now. Thanks for being here with me. 🫂❤️
Beautiful poignant past Blue! My daddy taught me how to fish on the Walker River in the shadow of the Sierra with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and eyes squinting against the smoke. A broken damaged man in many ways but happy and whole when fishing.
That brings back happy memories for me. My father liked to fish (& mom, too). We had those cattails and wild blackberry bushes by the lake as well. I remember riding my horse down to the lake with a bucket and bringing back a full one of blackberries, as long as I kept my horse out of it. He loved blackberries, too! I wasn't very good at catching fish, but I sure tried.
There’s something so special about fishing. I think because it’s a skill handed down through generations, through millennia, from person to person. I’m sure there are books and videos about how to fish, but books don’t beam with pride the first time you bait a hook properly. I will never forget the look on my dad’s face when Mapes Jr baited their first hook at age 3. I don’t think the sun could ever shine as brightly as their smiles for each other.
😁❤️😻
Beautiful memories. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you Linda. They are beautiful, aren't they? Writing these funny and positive pieces has been part of what's keeping me afloat right now. Thanks for being here with me. 🫂❤️
Sounds a lot like Crackerbox Palace
Beautiful poignant past Blue! My daddy taught me how to fish on the Walker River in the shadow of the Sierra with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and eyes squinting against the smoke. A broken damaged man in many ways but happy and whole when fishing.
Same for my Dad. 😊
A small niggle about a small thing in this beautiful post. Water is bailed (like out of the boat). Hay is baled.
That brings back happy memories for me. My father liked to fish (& mom, too). We had those cattails and wild blackberry bushes by the lake as well. I remember riding my horse down to the lake with a bucket and bringing back a full one of blackberries, as long as I kept my horse out of it. He loved blackberries, too! I wasn't very good at catching fish, but I sure tried.
Nice. 😊 I have some Lookingglass Valley horse riding memories in planning on writing about as well.
Thank you for pointing that out to me!