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poppy
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poppy whenever april begins, my dad starts swinging through my dreams. he was born in april and april is when fishing season starts. he'd always get his license early and start checking his gear and tying flies. i'd sit with him in the cellar and watch as his big hands spun the tiniest bits of nothing around a barb, my mouth open in amazement. and inevitably he would laugh and say, "watch out, you'll catch a fly". and i knew spring was starting. my favorite picure of my dad is on the wall in my bedroom. he's standing nearly thigh deep in a river, old waders, a cap with flies and lures on it, an old vest, profile, the sun just starting to rise. you can't really see his face but i know what it looks like. it is relaxed, his eyes sort o fhalf closed, his scar in shadows. his tall slender body is in that perfect stance when the rod is flicking and the line is flying out but hasn't hit yet. it's a beautiful picture...a picture of a man who is right where he wants to be. i was his fishing buddy. my sister was too girly and my brother too little but i...well i was just right...smiles...and i didn't mind digging worms and nightcrawlers. so on those magical mornings, he'd pick me up out of bed quietly, dress me in the dark and we'd slip out of the cabin we'd rented for those two weeks in the summer and push the boat into the lake. i still remember the sound of the water slipping off the oars, the bats flying overhead and swooping lower to see who we were. he would row out until we hit the sweet spot. it was my job to bait the hooks as he locked in the oars. all this without a word and then we'd cast off opposite sides and settle in. sometimes he'd tell me stories about being a boy, or maybe about the war. i think the lake and the quiet made him easy in himself. sometimes we just sat as good fishermen do, enjoying the peace, listening to the world. noticing all the small things that were happening all the time but that we never really notice in all the kerfluffle. when the sun was full up and a bit, we'd head back in for breakfast. there's a picture of me in a godawful sundress, fuzzy curls, no front teeth and a big ol' rainbow trout in my hands. i remember that day. i'll always remember that day. my called my dad poppy. he took him fishing too. You cannot conceive the many without the one. |
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sweet, melancholy, but sweet nevertheless...
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"there's a picture of me in a godawful sundress, fuzzy curls, no front teeth and a big ol' rainbow trout in my hands." And it's worth more than a thousand words, too--ain't it, we? Solar...
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Beautifully written. Fathers certainly leave us with some wonderful memories. Never ignore those who care for you you will have lost diamonds while you were collecting stones
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Hey, Lud... Is this kinda crap really necessary? I scanned back through some of your "7471" comments... and it seems you just can't quite manage entering any other keystrokes than those showing here. Maybe you need to invest in either a fully equipped keyboard--or a fully equipped brain. Moreover, you actually pay to do this. (Sorry, for intervening, we... but this just really pisses me off.) Solar...
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Here's to memories of summers, father and growing up. I could hear Aaron Copland's Grover's Corner playing in my mind while I read this. I bet you also remember how tasty that trout was. John Lee Hooker Recommended: [blog lucyjane78]
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We, what a gift you have to have such vibrant and remarkable memories replete with color and sound even! Lucky gal to have had such a great father and such a memorable life!
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a beautiful reminiscence - it's really true that they live on in our memories, isn't it? And re: ludwig...agreed on what solar said. I notice he paid a visit to magna this week too...sigh. Kind of makes the 'love to chat with you sometime' guy seem like a paragon, doesn't he?   
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Ludwig is what the 'ban' button was made for - it's one of the few bonuses of being standard, that I can't actually see his genitalia photos. And that Smarty let me know they were there.
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A beautiful tribute, wonderfully written! Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
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4/10/2011 5:07 pm |
what wonderful memories, we... hugs, ce  "All you'll get from strangers is surface pleasantry or indifference. Only someone who loves you will criticize you." - Judith Crist, crack film critic
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That was really nice, WE. And thanks to Ludwig for showing us many pics of the underbelly of the trout!
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I used to go fishing with my grandmother, she had a small lake and rowboat at the back of their farm. She taught me to bait the hook, and clean the fish. I never quite got the hang of not talking, though.  Thank you for reminding me of the lovely memories we carry with us.
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Thanks for sharing your fond memories, WE! The best place and time to talk to a child is in a boat when the lines are baited and it the water. I have fond memories of bluegill and crappie fishing with my daughter. She's going on 27 now and lives in Tampa. I made travel arrangements to go visit her for a week around her birthday. We haven't fished together in years, but you gave me a great idea. 'Think it's time I charter a boat down there and take her fishing in the Gulf or Tampa Bay. I've never done that kind of fishing before, but I'm sure it would be a great adventure for both us! Wishing you and yours all the best!
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(hugs sweetie!) thank you for remembering. I miss my grandma.
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That was beautiful.
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