My mom and brother recently reminded me of my LOVE of the sport of fishing. In my formative years, my brother, dad and I would traipse (not traipse…that sounds a little girly)…my dad and brother would trudge (I would traipse) through the wilderness to find some creek / pond / lake / river / hole in the ground and match our wit and skill against the all powerful fish. My dad and brother would wrestle the mighty fish to land, employing the rugged finesse associated with the timeless art. They would soak up and revel in the aromatic glory of being one with the fish, the water, the land and the earth. I, on the other hand, would be sitting on the shore, taking stock of the picnic that I had prepared that morning. Picture a bored seven year old boy, sitting on an old worn blanket, making sure that everyone had a napkin and the correct flatware to correspond with the first course that would emerge from the picnic basket! I write all of this so that everyone will know the humor associated with the next few pictures.
My dad, my brother and I…“fishing”…
My “keeper”...Who knows what I will do if Caleb wants to go fishing!
1 day ago