I know, I know, its been a while since my last blog, but I've had a hundred things on my mind and list that seemingly I could not get completed. The last couple of weeks have been a little hard as I've thought about my daddy a whole lot, and I posted more pictures on my Facebook with him in there and relived every moment the picture was taken. Last Monday it was really tough. I'm involved in prison ministry, and one of the things we do at the beginning of our time together is open with music. They have a piano in the room we meet in with the ladies, but since my mother doesn't go with us to play it, we have to take CD's we've made at church to have a little background music. One of the CD's was made before daddy got sick, and he leads choruses on it. We've used this particular CD from time to time since he's been gone and it was hard at first, but it's gotten a little easier as time has passed...until Monday night. He sang so pretty as I recall, but it was almost as though he had walked in the room, and it got a little harder to listen to him without shedding a tear. Here I was up in front of the ladies (the crowd was fewer in number this night) and I just started crying and found it hard to stop. From that song we went into another CD and the song a man sang was about heaven....and that started the water pipes (as my nephew calls them) to flowing again. I sure do miss him, but I know with complete confidence he's better off where he is.
I read a post my cousin made on Facebook yesterday about looking forward to going fishing on their new boat. Made me think of all the times I went fishing down at our hunting camp in Gulf Hammock. I (with my siblings) used to fish off the dock at the camp at the Suwannee River, but I didn't have a pole or rod and reel back then. We'd just lay on our stomach's with the string tied to our fingers, and sure enough we'd catch lots of different kinds of brim (excuse the spelling if that's not how you spell that type of fish...some people call them stumpknockers). Whatever the case, Daddy always said there's no tastier fish than those caught out of the Suwannee River, and Ten Mile Creek in Gulf Hammock. Back to those caught while laying on our stomach's...Mama would call us into lunch, and since we didn't have a fishing pole, we'd tie our strings to poles that were down at the boathouse and when we'd go back from eating our lunch, there'd always be fish on the line. We'd always throw them in a bucket of water and wait till Daddy came in to clean them...we weren't too good with that. I don't do the "guts thing" too well... I don't mind cutting raw meat, it's the insides and cutting off the heads I don't like to fool with.
In the mid 80's and just a few years after I had my accident, my Daddy and Uncle Orian (his brother) purchased land not far from a lot they had in our earlier years when we were children. Each had a cabin built; and Daddy, his nephew, and Wes built a long dock out from our cabin to an little island at the waters edge. Daddy used to say, "I built that so that Becky could have a place to go down to the water and fish." Now whether he really did that for me I don't know, but that's what he told everyone at the time it was being built. My Daddy loved to eat fish...especially fresh water fish. It wasn't unsual for people to quite frequently stop by the house and give him a mess of fish they had caught because they knew he loved them. For the longest time, the typical menu down at the camp the night before hunting season opened, it was fresh fried mullet, grits, swamp cabbage, baked beans, and hush puppies. Nothing any better....and Mama hated fish, not because of its taste, but the bones she had to pick around. Now me, I didn't care for the bones, but I've almost mastered the art of knowing how to eat around them...Mama never could figure that out, so she was satisfied with eating a fish stick rather than the fresh water fish. The men fried it out doors, so she didn't have to mess up her kitchen with frying them...she said the grease made everything a mess.
When the cabin and dock were finished, I purchased a Zebco rod and reel from Walmart, and I was ready to go fishing. I had so many little tips to catching fish people had given, I was intent on trying every one of them. I'd go down a few times during the summer when I took some of the nieces and nephews, and we'd stay the whole week and fish throughout the day, and a few times at night. One night I recall something getting on my line and it was a slow pull, not the typical feel of a fishbite and the fight they'd put up. It was rather scary, and all I could think of was I had a gator or some type of Loch Ness Monster...so I just cut the line and was ready to go inside.
Many days during hunting season, I'd start out early in the morning, go inside for lunch and then go back out and fish till about the time everyone would start coming in from hunting. Daddy always told me he'd take care of the cleaning when he'd come in and not worry about it..."You just catch "em, and I'll clean 'em." I mainly fished with night crawlers, and once in a while I'd fish with what I heard the big boys talking about...a Rapella. I caught one small bass with it, but no others...so I went back to what I had the best success with. First start of the day I'd take a wet cloth down with me to the dock as I couldn't stand the worm guts/poop or whatever it was that would stick to my fingers. Felt just like glue...I was beginning to wonder if that's what glue was made of, or think I could make a killing making my own glue with it. One particular day when everyone had gone out to hunt, the sand knats were biting hard and I was determined to go sit out on the dock to fish. Ten Mile Creek has ugly dark water like the Suwannee, but it was so relaxing to sit out under the trees with a little breeze blowing and watch the water move along. Every once in a while you could hear the dogs in the distance as they were on the trail of something. I got everything set up, had my tacklebox at arms reach and I was prepared with my bucket of water should I catch anything. I baited my hook, threw it out and bingo! I got a bite and reeled it in. I took the fish off and put it in the bucket and threw it out again since the worm was still there and bingo! Got me another one. Well this went on for about an hour or so...every time I dropped it in the water I got my bite and the fish. Our dock sits directly across the way from the Legler's camp/dock and I knew they were out hunting also, but this persistent fish catching every few minutes was beginning to get rather comical until I started laughing out there all by myself. I thought, "If any of the Leger's drive up and see me out here by myself laughing, they'll think I have lost it." It eventually slowed up, but I probably caught two dozen or more....I was so proud to give them to my Daddy that evening. That wasn't the only bites I got that day. I had put bug spray only in the areas I could feel...around my neck, arms, and face; but neglected to put any around my ankles because I had on socks, figuring they wouldn't bite through those...yeah right. I'm not exaggerating to say I must have had at least 50 bites per ankle. The next day I caught nothing...not the first bite. You talk about a boring day...nothing any worse than the fish not biting. Sand knats were the only bites I got that day, but not like the day before. Uncle Orian told me the reason I didn't catch anything was because I wan't holding my mouth right...
My fishing days dwindled down as the more and more the younger ones heard my fishing tales, the more they wanted to go fishing out on the dock also. Only problem is, they never mastered putting their own worms on. I spent more time baiting hooks, taking their fish off the line, getting the string out of the trees, taking the hooks out of the dock, posts, shirts, hats, hands, heads, etc. It was work. They'd run off and leave my rod and reel or cane pole down on the dock and I'd have to try and clean the mess up...so I never got to enjoy it as I did before when it was just me, myself, and I. The days of fish eating has dwindled also. Daddy's not around, so Mama doesn't care to fry them anymore, unless she's doing it for my brother Wes...
Things have changed a whole lot since Daddy's been gone; but you know Jesus tells me and all who will listen in Mathew 4:19 "....Come follow me, and I will make you fish for people." Yes, my earthly father is still missed, but in my heart my heavenly father is still telling me..."you catch the fish and I'll clean em up."
6 years ago
