"Snakes ..... I hate snakes." This quote from Indiana Jones covers my sentiments perfectly. O.K., o.k . .... all creatures great and small have a place in the giant scheme of things; however, I do not have to like or live with them. Well, actually, you see, one did live in our home, for awhile, once. If you have a child allergic to animal dander and you don't wish to spend all your time sitting with him in the hospital under an oxygen tent, concessions are often made. Reggie was a Bald Python.
The care and handling was "their" job. Oh, you know who "they" are .... anyone in the family other than you. So we settled into a routine, periodically, I would purchase a mouse and "they" would feed him. Then we had the escapes. I would check behind and under the sofa cushions before sitting ..... really, I did not have a raving fit. One time he was missing for about a month. We decided, when hunger was an issue, he would show up. One evening I was summoned to a storage area and instructed to open a drawer. There coiled in among the wires, extension cords, etc was Reggie unable to extricate himself. After much unraveling, all was back to normal.
Don't be lulled into thinking that my fine wholesome men/boys didn't pull pranks on me, because they did until that time when the world went sideways. Which is the point of this narrative.
We've all lingered lazily in bed on a Saturday morning. It was Spring, the windows were open, and I just slipped back into an easy sleep. Thinking it would be fun to see what would happen if "they" slipped Reggie in bed with me, "they" watched. Slowly I became aware something was in the bed and moving under the sheet which caused a sudden panic reaction. From "their" vantage point outside the bedroom door, my family witnessed an amazing feat of agility. I was told that I actually had levitated and exited the bed giving the impression to have been running on thin air...... to say nothing of the sound that emanated from my mouth. Perhaps at first, "their" inclination was to run as well; but considering my past reactions to rid the world of vermin, "they" decided restraining would be safer for Reggie. This later explanation had to wait as my sensibilities had been thoroughly compromised. I am certain that a Judge would have dismissed any murder charges against me due to hysterical insanity. An indelibly etched lesson was learned that day.
Snakes came to mind this morning as I made my daily wander through the tomatoes, roses and such in the garden. There weren't any lurking about, but maybe I should carry a hoe with me just in case. We could discuss this over a cup of tea.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Coca-cola Gravy
Watching the World Cup this morning, I noticed the Coca-cola advertisement around the field which in turn triggered a neuron to misfire leaving a gap in my conscious thought .... coke gravy. Oh, dear, we are back to food where this whole thing started.
He loved to entertain at home, in a duck blind, on a river bank or a goose pit. "Let's take a camp stove or a backpackers stove and have fresh" fish, duck, doves .... whatever. In May and June, many times he would be cleaning fish as I was catching them. Now, please understand there would be accompaniments ..... prepared slaw, sliced tomatoes, sliced onions, tartar sauce, lemons, but french fries right out of the pan. All this to share the taste of fresh fried battered fish in Nature's glory. Of course, sitting on the ground was not ideal due to ticks, ants, etc. Sometimes advanced prep work was done ..... a desired spot, with the right view, might require clearing of debri, cut the grass, create a table for the cloth. Everything was on a rustic grand scale. I recall wondering where he actually came from, this classy romantic fella and how I was so lucky to be part of his life. I digress. Sometimes this was a bribe to coerce the boys to join us; but other times we had invited friends along for "an afternoon on the river". What fun!
Fall brought on Dove Shoots. The menu was simple Fried Dove Breast, Sliced Tomatoes, Rice, Milk Gravy all cooked on site. Yep, we used the same equipment; however, rather than a cool river bank, generally it was a hot Alabama or Tennessee afternoon looking for a shady tree. OR, he had provided a table and chairs from the van. I was tempted once to inquire if the Silver Service or the candlesticks would be used but immediately thought better keeping my mouth shut. Sometimes it's best to be surprised ..... pleasantly so. Floating the creek in a canoe for Squirrels was often concluded with wine and cheese served by paddle drifting back to the van.
Deer camp was a full blown event with Dutch Ovens [that's plural and often stacked] as it is for many folks. But Duck hunting, what idiot would think of it much less decide to do IT!!! First off, you're up at 3 a.m., dressed and in the van by 3;30, sleep til 4: 20, arrive at Mr. Barby's farm. Slip canoes off racks, load them, then drag across muddy field to flood timbers. Thank goodness the boys were there to help. Or, another option and this mornings destination would be the coal shute at Coffee Lake and "the narrows". Who in their right mind would even consider cooking. We had guest coming; well, of course we did .... a friend and his wife who was as much an outdoorsman as I am an Astronaut. So, of course, "himself" must make an event of it. "We'll have Fried Duck Breast with Rice and Gravy". You did note that was a statement not a question ...... good. The one thing I have not mentioned is the temperature. It's cold outdoors in January just in case you were confused and still thinking of the river bank in May. Ducks migrate when the temperature drops, a lot. This particular day was "brisk" to say the least. Nonetheless, out come the backpacker stoves and all are very impressed. The last thing to make is the gravy ..... quietly he inquired as to the canned milk. As I had not been part of the packing process and as generally my responsibilities were to "just get me in the van and go back to sleep" .... guess said milk was still in the kitchen. Well, not to be undone, we inventoried our supply of liquids. Caffine Free Diet Coke was the sum total. Funny what carbonation does to a roux [oil and flour]. I will say, after much stirring, adding massive amounts of pepper and some salt, he served us all our repass. He ate 3 helpings of rice and coke gravy that day. Sorry, but my vocabulary is insufficent to truly express the taste sensation and we rarely spoke of it for a few years; after which, we all joked and laughed about that day's outcome.
That's the truth about coca-cola gravy. You know, if memory serves, our friend's wife did not return to the field for another Duck Hunt, ever. Am pretty sure it was the cold not the gravy. WOW, life was full. Hummmm, think I'm about ready for a cup of tea .......
He loved to entertain at home, in a duck blind, on a river bank or a goose pit. "Let's take a camp stove or a backpackers stove and have fresh" fish, duck, doves .... whatever. In May and June, many times he would be cleaning fish as I was catching them. Now, please understand there would be accompaniments ..... prepared slaw, sliced tomatoes, sliced onions, tartar sauce, lemons, but french fries right out of the pan. All this to share the taste of fresh fried battered fish in Nature's glory. Of course, sitting on the ground was not ideal due to ticks, ants, etc. Sometimes advanced prep work was done ..... a desired spot, with the right view, might require clearing of debri, cut the grass, create a table for the cloth. Everything was on a rustic grand scale. I recall wondering where he actually came from, this classy romantic fella and how I was so lucky to be part of his life. I digress. Sometimes this was a bribe to coerce the boys to join us; but other times we had invited friends along for "an afternoon on the river". What fun!
Fall brought on Dove Shoots. The menu was simple Fried Dove Breast, Sliced Tomatoes, Rice, Milk Gravy all cooked on site. Yep, we used the same equipment; however, rather than a cool river bank, generally it was a hot Alabama or Tennessee afternoon looking for a shady tree. OR, he had provided a table and chairs from the van. I was tempted once to inquire if the Silver Service or the candlesticks would be used but immediately thought better keeping my mouth shut. Sometimes it's best to be surprised ..... pleasantly so. Floating the creek in a canoe for Squirrels was often concluded with wine and cheese served by paddle drifting back to the van.
Deer camp was a full blown event with Dutch Ovens [that's plural and often stacked] as it is for many folks. But Duck hunting, what idiot would think of it much less decide to do IT!!! First off, you're up at 3 a.m., dressed and in the van by 3;30, sleep til 4: 20, arrive at Mr. Barby's farm. Slip canoes off racks, load them, then drag across muddy field to flood timbers. Thank goodness the boys were there to help. Or, another option and this mornings destination would be the coal shute at Coffee Lake and "the narrows". Who in their right mind would even consider cooking. We had guest coming; well, of course we did .... a friend and his wife who was as much an outdoorsman as I am an Astronaut. So, of course, "himself" must make an event of it. "We'll have Fried Duck Breast with Rice and Gravy". You did note that was a statement not a question ...... good. The one thing I have not mentioned is the temperature. It's cold outdoors in January just in case you were confused and still thinking of the river bank in May. Ducks migrate when the temperature drops, a lot. This particular day was "brisk" to say the least. Nonetheless, out come the backpacker stoves and all are very impressed. The last thing to make is the gravy ..... quietly he inquired as to the canned milk. As I had not been part of the packing process and as generally my responsibilities were to "just get me in the van and go back to sleep" .... guess said milk was still in the kitchen. Well, not to be undone, we inventoried our supply of liquids. Caffine Free Diet Coke was the sum total. Funny what carbonation does to a roux [oil and flour]. I will say, after much stirring, adding massive amounts of pepper and some salt, he served us all our repass. He ate 3 helpings of rice and coke gravy that day. Sorry, but my vocabulary is insufficent to truly express the taste sensation and we rarely spoke of it for a few years; after which, we all joked and laughed about that day's outcome.
That's the truth about coca-cola gravy. You know, if memory serves, our friend's wife did not return to the field for another Duck Hunt, ever. Am pretty sure it was the cold not the gravy. WOW, life was full. Hummmm, think I'm about ready for a cup of tea .......
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Old Photo Memories
A shared stack of old photos has generated a "remember when" trip. Olive Branch, Illinois, Greenley Lodge near Horseshoe Refuge [think that's the name], geese, young Lab, young sons, everything seemed young 30 +/- years ago. All the same, there we were, the 5 of us. The travel begins with the first out of sequence picture [there you are kneeling down holding up 2 heavy geese behind 6 more laying on the ground in front of you and trying to smile], but the memory tends to organize back to "are the boys old enough to really enjoy making this trip" apparently was never part of Dad's thought process. "I want to give the boys something I never had .... HUNTING WITH MY DAD." So, it began.
A goose flock can have as few as 6 to 8 birds and as many as 18 to 26 or more birds. When these groups come together enmass, well, the field turns from green to beige and has a rippling apearance. The sound .... unfortunately my verbal skills do not translate "it" into written words .... just accept that it is similar to a recognizable murmur, audible for great distances. AND THEN, we step into their field for a better view. Our arrival causes major panic and the need to escape resulting in organized choas. I can honestly say I don't know which is louder .... the honking or the wings beating. But to one lover of wildlife, it is a music on no CD, but all these years later, WOW!! Look at the picture and I'm there.
The funny thing about an old bunch of photos is they are not only out of sequence but others have been shuffled into the mix .... oh, you know, there's your youngest sliding down the roof of the Hart's hay barn retrieving a dove since the Lab can't get to it and everyone else is too large to be shoved upon the roof .... soooooooo, send Ian. Dad liked to make times special .... turn the end of a Dove shoot into a safari with wine etc, chairs and a dressed table.
Abruptly, the eye recognizes we have moved to our haunt in the Fla. Key, wetsuits, SCUBA tanks, smiling faces, hands waving Spiny Lobsters with friends from another life era. Or taking invited friends for the game fish Dolphin [that's different from Porpoise]. I do believe Dad would rather guide than actually fish .... "I'd rather put you on fish and watch you fight them; just get it in the boat" .... cope out .... but actually, heaven help the one who lost the battle. I lost a fish once, purported to have been a "very large" Permit [how did he decide that, we never saw the fish], he is probably sitting on his cloud sharing that ignoble moment in my life with everyone.
In the mix, there is AttaBoy a.k.a. Adam holding a mighty goose .... atta boy!! Then bored boys waiting for that few minutes of a flurry or Mitchell and Mitchell shoulder to shoulder in flooded timber. Other reminders of those brief stored snaps of life that confirm events. Funny, there we are sttting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and a stranger taking the shot. That was 1985, the first trip in our new van with the queen size bed across the back. That was very important move up from a Chevet. Quess it is true, our lives are a collection of meer moments passing through the great halls of time. Well, thank goodness for the pictures that fill in the Swiss Cheese of my memories. It was a fun ride for the most part .... no it isn't over yet ..... just different.
A goose flock can have as few as 6 to 8 birds and as many as 18 to 26 or more birds. When these groups come together enmass, well, the field turns from green to beige and has a rippling apearance. The sound .... unfortunately my verbal skills do not translate "it" into written words .... just accept that it is similar to a recognizable murmur, audible for great distances. AND THEN, we step into their field for a better view. Our arrival causes major panic and the need to escape resulting in organized choas. I can honestly say I don't know which is louder .... the honking or the wings beating. But to one lover of wildlife, it is a music on no CD, but all these years later, WOW!! Look at the picture and I'm there.
The funny thing about an old bunch of photos is they are not only out of sequence but others have been shuffled into the mix .... oh, you know, there's your youngest sliding down the roof of the Hart's hay barn retrieving a dove since the Lab can't get to it and everyone else is too large to be shoved upon the roof .... soooooooo, send Ian. Dad liked to make times special .... turn the end of a Dove shoot into a safari with wine etc, chairs and a dressed table.
Abruptly, the eye recognizes we have moved to our haunt in the Fla. Key, wetsuits, SCUBA tanks, smiling faces, hands waving Spiny Lobsters with friends from another life era. Or taking invited friends for the game fish Dolphin [that's different from Porpoise]. I do believe Dad would rather guide than actually fish .... "I'd rather put you on fish and watch you fight them; just get it in the boat" .... cope out .... but actually, heaven help the one who lost the battle. I lost a fish once, purported to have been a "very large" Permit [how did he decide that, we never saw the fish], he is probably sitting on his cloud sharing that ignoble moment in my life with everyone.
In the mix, there is AttaBoy a.k.a. Adam holding a mighty goose .... atta boy!! Then bored boys waiting for that few minutes of a flurry or Mitchell and Mitchell shoulder to shoulder in flooded timber. Other reminders of those brief stored snaps of life that confirm events. Funny, there we are sttting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and a stranger taking the shot. That was 1985, the first trip in our new van with the queen size bed across the back. That was very important move up from a Chevet. Quess it is true, our lives are a collection of meer moments passing through the great halls of time. Well, thank goodness for the pictures that fill in the Swiss Cheese of my memories. It was a fun ride for the most part .... no it isn't over yet ..... just different.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Phone chats and Persian Memories
An evening phone call sent me back to that July 1971's shocking call from the other side of the world; actually, Ahwaz, Iran and some KDS officials. Seems my 49 year old father-in-law had experienced a fatal cerebral hemorrhage. No, we are not Iranians, just East Tennesseeans creating a dam system similar to TVA bringing power to the southern part of that country. Well, memories are funny things .... like walking through a strange house opening this door and that one; you never know what's behind the next door and then the "Oh, Yes". So, by 3 a.m., the floodgate was wide open and memories spilled all over my consciousness. It had taken 5 weeks to get him home for burial. Mary [mother-in-law] had stayed for an extended visit and now would be required to return to pack and vacate their house. This is where unsuspectingly I was headed ..... she could not go alone!! Remember, women were considered chattel, have no rights and cannot own property. The companion check list was very short and no one was able to accompany her. We had a 1 year old son, I couldn't leave him and his father.
August 23rd, first passport in hand, I found myself headed to the middle east for 4 weeks .... well actually, it would be 4 months; returning November 18th. I had been no further from home than Ruidoso, NM; now, I'm headed for a place that my grasp of the language is laughable at best.... phrases for beer, tomorrow, wait a minute, or go with God. Heaven only knows what he taught me that was made up. Wow, good to go ..... Enshaallah!!
Having experienced the grieving widow personally[2000], Mary wasn't it. We stopped in Rome and a bit of shopping to lessen her grief. She found 3 pieces of red leather luggage and a few other "essential" items. Repacked, we journeyed on thru Beirut, Lebanon to Abadan, Iran. I thought I had come to the end of the world. Our escort and friend, Colonel Ray Caldwell, helped us through "entry" at 10 p.m. What a nightmare; dark, disorienting and gas fires everywhere. With the morning light, "breakfast" and a walk for some local color and "getting my feet wet" so to speak. Nothing in my life lessons had prepared me for this culture. BREAKFAST, are you kidding me ... "just a cup of tea please". Mary finally joined us and off to Ahwaz. The passing view was harsh beige tones and flat. The cradle of civilization could not have been more austere and forbidding. Women, in long black robes with bundles of "camel brush" on their heads, walked barefoot in the oppressive midday heat. My education had only begun.
Upon arrival, her neighbors and friends had prepared a lovely welcome buffet as we "waited". As a very time oriented person, appointment at 1 p.m. means 1 p.m. Silly me. They have a word, "far-ta", meaning later, tomorrow or sometime in the future yet to be determined. So at their leisure some hours later, 3 very "important" city officials arrived. With great attention to papers, passports and many questions of intent, they allowed these lowly females admission and the keys were handed to Col. Caldwell. [We take our liberties for granted here.] Nonetheless, we're in and I'm exhausted. It has been a long three days with a difficult, self centered, spoiled woman with whom my only relationship is "I'm married to her son". This whole thing cannot possibly end well. Grrrreat!!
Our social calendar was filled from dawn to well past dust nearly everyday. I had been prepared, before leaving, that I would be presented as the number one man's "only" son's wife. Apparently being a blue eyed Anglo-Saxon type [an actual description of me] is highly honored. No miss step would be acceptable. So, on September 5 at 8 :oo p.m. dinner, Doctor and Mrs. Moesaid introduced me. Traditionally, the whole lamb was roasted with all the accompaniments ..... and joy of joys, I have the privilege of eating the eyeball .... wow, lucky me.
Amid the social whirl, we actually measured for 11 crates. You could not run down to the U-Haul for packing boxes. They had to be built. Remember "far-ta", 14 days worth of waiting. What do you do - read, shop in the bizarre, play bridge, hunt ? Hunt! when, what .... can we go now?? Big Russian Boar root up the gardens at night .... so we got to fix that problem. Big means a 300 pounder with hurtful tusks digging up cucumbers, squash and melons.
The first time out was a true adventure into the wild. To my knowledge, the only other woman to hunt or shoot in the Khuzestan was my mother-in-law. So, off we go about 4 p.m. in a large Mercedes Benz truck. I felt like a mushroom. But, was told we will get dinner on the way. We ran up some Duraz [a pheasant type] which would be prepared for us at a village along the way. Well, they were expecting us with a feast that also included Gazelle, grilled onions, fresh bread, goat butter, our birds and wine. We sat on beautiful carpets strewn about with pillows for leaning. The Arabian Nights were alive. Yep, I was the show for the evening. They had never seen a white woman, much less one that was a hunter; so, was presented by the Sheik to his wives and shown his prized horses. Finally escaping all the pairs of eyes, we were headed for game. Braced in a corner over the truck cab and the roadless desert spreading before us, we must have resembled a half crazed, stumbling, drunken white elephant. Then, there in the light was a wall of meat trotting across our beams ..... don't miss, don't miss. Considering that the farmers had multiple problems, I was told to sit with mine and they would be back later. Right, of course, why not! There I was with an enormous animal to keep safe from the Jackals and Hyenas. While sitting out in the dark desert, the sky filled with the most incredible stars; then, the moon had the audacity to fill the entire horizon as it slowly rose. Engrossed with this visual , you could hear Porcupines quills rattling as they waddled along reflected in the moon light; as well as, the eerie sounds of the others. I'm not about to say I wasn't unsettled and the sight of headlights moving towards me wasn't a relief. I won't belabor my secret thoughts and fears. Aaaah, but what memories..... horses we rode and raced .... clouds of white wing doves .... copper by the pound .... fur coats ..... red swede boots ..... Kudha Villa .... Queen's Golf Tournament, Tehran .... the train trip ..... Ibex ..... trip home .... the faces of my two fellas ... one spills over into another; too much to recall at one time. Hummmmmm, 1971, that really was me; another time; we'll talk again.
August 23rd, first passport in hand, I found myself headed to the middle east for 4 weeks .... well actually, it would be 4 months; returning November 18th. I had been no further from home than Ruidoso, NM; now, I'm headed for a place that my grasp of the language is laughable at best.... phrases for beer, tomorrow, wait a minute, or go with God. Heaven only knows what he taught me that was made up. Wow, good to go ..... Enshaallah!!
Having experienced the grieving widow personally[2000], Mary wasn't it. We stopped in Rome and a bit of shopping to lessen her grief. She found 3 pieces of red leather luggage and a few other "essential" items. Repacked, we journeyed on thru Beirut, Lebanon to Abadan, Iran. I thought I had come to the end of the world. Our escort and friend, Colonel Ray Caldwell, helped us through "entry" at 10 p.m. What a nightmare; dark, disorienting and gas fires everywhere. With the morning light, "breakfast" and a walk for some local color and "getting my feet wet" so to speak. Nothing in my life lessons had prepared me for this culture. BREAKFAST, are you kidding me ... "just a cup of tea please". Mary finally joined us and off to Ahwaz. The passing view was harsh beige tones and flat. The cradle of civilization could not have been more austere and forbidding. Women, in long black robes with bundles of "camel brush" on their heads, walked barefoot in the oppressive midday heat. My education had only begun.
Upon arrival, her neighbors and friends had prepared a lovely welcome buffet as we "waited". As a very time oriented person, appointment at 1 p.m. means 1 p.m. Silly me. They have a word, "far-ta", meaning later, tomorrow or sometime in the future yet to be determined. So at their leisure some hours later, 3 very "important" city officials arrived. With great attention to papers, passports and many questions of intent, they allowed these lowly females admission and the keys were handed to Col. Caldwell. [We take our liberties for granted here.] Nonetheless, we're in and I'm exhausted. It has been a long three days with a difficult, self centered, spoiled woman with whom my only relationship is "I'm married to her son". This whole thing cannot possibly end well. Grrrreat!!
Our social calendar was filled from dawn to well past dust nearly everyday. I had been prepared, before leaving, that I would be presented as the number one man's "only" son's wife. Apparently being a blue eyed Anglo-Saxon type [an actual description of me] is highly honored. No miss step would be acceptable. So, on September 5 at 8 :oo p.m. dinner, Doctor and Mrs. Moesaid introduced me. Traditionally, the whole lamb was roasted with all the accompaniments ..... and joy of joys, I have the privilege of eating the eyeball .... wow, lucky me.
Amid the social whirl, we actually measured for 11 crates. You could not run down to the U-Haul for packing boxes. They had to be built. Remember "far-ta", 14 days worth of waiting. What do you do - read, shop in the bizarre, play bridge, hunt ? Hunt! when, what .... can we go now?? Big Russian Boar root up the gardens at night .... so we got to fix that problem. Big means a 300 pounder with hurtful tusks digging up cucumbers, squash and melons.
The first time out was a true adventure into the wild. To my knowledge, the only other woman to hunt or shoot in the Khuzestan was my mother-in-law. So, off we go about 4 p.m. in a large Mercedes Benz truck. I felt like a mushroom. But, was told we will get dinner on the way. We ran up some Duraz [a pheasant type] which would be prepared for us at a village along the way. Well, they were expecting us with a feast that also included Gazelle, grilled onions, fresh bread, goat butter, our birds and wine. We sat on beautiful carpets strewn about with pillows for leaning. The Arabian Nights were alive. Yep, I was the show for the evening. They had never seen a white woman, much less one that was a hunter; so, was presented by the Sheik to his wives and shown his prized horses. Finally escaping all the pairs of eyes, we were headed for game. Braced in a corner over the truck cab and the roadless desert spreading before us, we must have resembled a half crazed, stumbling, drunken white elephant. Then, there in the light was a wall of meat trotting across our beams ..... don't miss, don't miss. Considering that the farmers had multiple problems, I was told to sit with mine and they would be back later. Right, of course, why not! There I was with an enormous animal to keep safe from the Jackals and Hyenas. While sitting out in the dark desert, the sky filled with the most incredible stars; then, the moon had the audacity to fill the entire horizon as it slowly rose. Engrossed with this visual , you could hear Porcupines quills rattling as they waddled along reflected in the moon light; as well as, the eerie sounds of the others. I'm not about to say I wasn't unsettled and the sight of headlights moving towards me wasn't a relief. I won't belabor my secret thoughts and fears. Aaaah, but what memories..... horses we rode and raced .... clouds of white wing doves .... copper by the pound .... fur coats ..... red swede boots ..... Kudha Villa .... Queen's Golf Tournament, Tehran .... the train trip ..... Ibex ..... trip home .... the faces of my two fellas ... one spills over into another; too much to recall at one time. Hummmmmm, 1971, that really was me; another time; we'll talk again.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Dogwood, Redbud and Fishing Memories
The Redbud is in full blossom awaiting the arrival of Dogwood blooms. This was the fishing signal. Oh, you know, on the water by 7:45 and home by noon or one. Big decision was which location: Racoon Mountain Ramp, Sullivan's Landing, Marion County or below the dam. This alone could cause major tension going down the mountain. It's that "I really don't care .... where ever you want to go" that could create a snarl so big that we have actually turned around and gone home. So to avoid this catastrophe I would suggest we start with the closest ramp and if we don't find fish in an hour, move further down to the next location. This way, going below the dam was avoided. He loved catching BIG trash fish under the dam spillways, RATZ. Finally after years of this location squabble, we fell into a comfortable routine .... if he was driving, he chose; if I was driving I chose. AND this could all change with how many cars were on the ramp or in the parking lot. Always keep you options open. Are you still with me??
But this morning, I choose to recall Sullivan's Landing for Bass. Moving easily along the bank casting Spinner Bait and working Black Crawfish over rocky ledges. We rarely used the same bait. He always sat in the front running the trolling motor while I sat in the back with the big motor incase we needed to "run down the bank" a little way and I could take us there. We always caught fish.
The trouble with memories I start with a more recent moment but then I begin recollecting how I got here ..... the beginning. You're working a bank or drop off and the mind wanders back to that first Spring of our 1965 marriage. It was obvious I was going to have to learn to fish well, just learning the process would not do .... proficiency would be essential. A 5 foot Shakespeare fiberglass rod, Mitchell Spinning Reel and a frog colored Baby Zara Spook on 6 pound test line would be my training tools. Funny how we see ourselves. I had not considered myself as inept; afterall, I was an accomplished horsewoman .... really!!! I had really good hands! However, sitting in the front of that boat all summer, it was clear that "close" only counted in horseshoes. In order to attract that Bass under the stump, place the Spook on top of the stump "not a foot/6 inches from it". Of course, then the water would explode as a 3 pound Large Mouth Bass would inhale my plug looking for all the world as big as a whale, your heart in your throat and PANIC ... "set the hook, set the hook" ... "get his head up, keep the line tight, he's going under the boat, stay with him" .... then finally, " I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how you managed to catch this fish" and then the litany of all the errors began. I sat facing the world in the front of the boat as tears streamed down. There were times that summer I can attest to raising the level of Watts Bar lake by feet. BUT, I wanted to make him proud and I wanted to be confident. All those hours of frustration did pay off in spades when he invited someone to go with us. I was mortified until he said " for goodness sake, you can hold your own with anyone". And that was that; we were fishing partners for 35 years in fresh and salt water. One side note .... when Fall came and hunting season was approaching, he took me to the local gun club with a case of shells and cut a deal with the club pro to teach me to shoot .... he was soooo wise.
Maybe it's the love of water, but fishing ... what a gift he gave me. Set the hook, feel the throbbing of power on the end of your 4 pound test line, taking and giving, keeping that bow in your rod, a war of wills and manouvering techniques, "yep, yep, yep, come on baby, come on", then reach down and grab hold of the lower lip .... dinner or release to fight another day. Today, I would rather be casting an ultra light rod with a 1/18th oz or a 1/32 oz Rooster Tail for Shell Crackers, Bream, Bass than just about anything. See what I mean about getting sidetracked ... but it's a beautiful Spring day, pale green leaves will have little pale green worms and fish will be happy. Maybe I'll replace the line on my reels and drift down a bank. What a nice thought ... today.
Wow, I've done it again ..... memories and time .... I need a cup of tea and watch the young deer in the lower yard.
But this morning, I choose to recall Sullivan's Landing for Bass. Moving easily along the bank casting Spinner Bait and working Black Crawfish over rocky ledges. We rarely used the same bait. He always sat in the front running the trolling motor while I sat in the back with the big motor incase we needed to "run down the bank" a little way and I could take us there. We always caught fish.
The trouble with memories I start with a more recent moment but then I begin recollecting how I got here ..... the beginning. You're working a bank or drop off and the mind wanders back to that first Spring of our 1965 marriage. It was obvious I was going to have to learn to fish well, just learning the process would not do .... proficiency would be essential. A 5 foot Shakespeare fiberglass rod, Mitchell Spinning Reel and a frog colored Baby Zara Spook on 6 pound test line would be my training tools. Funny how we see ourselves. I had not considered myself as inept; afterall, I was an accomplished horsewoman .... really!!! I had really good hands! However, sitting in the front of that boat all summer, it was clear that "close" only counted in horseshoes. In order to attract that Bass under the stump, place the Spook on top of the stump "not a foot/6 inches from it". Of course, then the water would explode as a 3 pound Large Mouth Bass would inhale my plug looking for all the world as big as a whale, your heart in your throat and PANIC ... "set the hook, set the hook" ... "get his head up, keep the line tight, he's going under the boat, stay with him" .... then finally, " I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how you managed to catch this fish" and then the litany of all the errors began. I sat facing the world in the front of the boat as tears streamed down. There were times that summer I can attest to raising the level of Watts Bar lake by feet. BUT, I wanted to make him proud and I wanted to be confident. All those hours of frustration did pay off in spades when he invited someone to go with us. I was mortified until he said " for goodness sake, you can hold your own with anyone". And that was that; we were fishing partners for 35 years in fresh and salt water. One side note .... when Fall came and hunting season was approaching, he took me to the local gun club with a case of shells and cut a deal with the club pro to teach me to shoot .... he was soooo wise.
Maybe it's the love of water, but fishing ... what a gift he gave me. Set the hook, feel the throbbing of power on the end of your 4 pound test line, taking and giving, keeping that bow in your rod, a war of wills and manouvering techniques, "yep, yep, yep, come on baby, come on", then reach down and grab hold of the lower lip .... dinner or release to fight another day. Today, I would rather be casting an ultra light rod with a 1/18th oz or a 1/32 oz Rooster Tail for Shell Crackers, Bream, Bass than just about anything. See what I mean about getting sidetracked ... but it's a beautiful Spring day, pale green leaves will have little pale green worms and fish will be happy. Maybe I'll replace the line on my reels and drift down a bank. What a nice thought ... today.
Wow, I've done it again ..... memories and time .... I need a cup of tea and watch the young deer in the lower yard.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Drizzly Days and Water Memories
Soft drizzly days make you lazy of thought and the mind drifts to younger times. Memories of times that molded this life .... kind of like clay being formed for a later use. First there was fishing, then shooting, followed by hunting, hiking, rappelling, camping, whitewater canoeing, ham radio. But, water was and is a lure ..... near it, on it or in it and serenity is acheived. As a child, once swimming was learned, happiness was water. One summer afternoon, my cousin joined me borrowing a lonesome and inviting skiff tied to a post in a Alabama coastal lagoon. In those days, time had little, if any, relevence. We crossed the flat waters, drifting at times watching Blue Crabs scuttle across the sandy bottom and small fish scurry away. The clouds formed creatures and sailing ships. We talked of silliness. We drifted for an unaccountable period oblivious to anyones concerns. As I recall this, it's surprising we were ever allowed out of sight or perhaps not tied to a table leg forever.
We were all of 6 or 7 and the adventure was delicious. I can actually smell the air and feel the water slippin' on my finger tips of that long ago day. There was alot of "girls you know better", "you took someone's property without permission", "I have been worried sick", there were too many "what if ......"to recall. "What do you have to say for yourselves" gave me hope for salvation. Funny thing was no one wanted to hear my explanation or how much fun we had or "but nothing happened" which seemed to fuel the fire of retribution. Following a few days of house arrest, we were able to coerce our way out of confinement. Seems that was the only summer I was allowed, or perhaps invited, to join my Uncle and Aunt on the coast. Hummmm, looking back I probably would not have wanted to deal with that child's impulses either. However, it must be appreciated that as an only child, I was thrilled to have a "real" companion with which to share creative fun.
Odd that this would come to mind today. It's the water thing. In 1957 or 8, I was introduced to SCUBA. Without telling my parents exactly what the plan was other than a picnic with my boyfriend, we waded into a quarry of crystal clear water and I was hooked. Of course, much parental explaining was required when my boyfriend gave me tank, etc and I had to bring it home. There was no certification; you bought the equipment and went. Getting air was no problem and it was free. Boy have things changed. Remember Lloyd Bridges and Sea Hunt on T.V. .... equipment has certainly improved and I understand the need for certification..... yes, I did pass the classes at the YMCA winter program after marriage and children. The thought process was get one of us certified and we can get air. And, tag you're it..... a story of my life.
But that led to the four of us [me, husband and two sons] being able to share a water world of reefs and fish AND lobsters. Well, actually it was a bribe. "If you boys will fish the Gulf Stream with us, we will dive on the reef going in." So there we were, the boxes filled with fish and ice; AND, absolutely, we dove. Early on, the boys were smaller than some of the fish swimming with us. I sit here smiling to myself remembering when Jaws was released and Dad refused to get out of the boat. It was good and I am grateful but miss the sensation of the water slipping over me.
When I consider the influences that formed this clay of a life, they have forced me to search deep in myself to take the next step. There may be those that support you but when the next step on that path is taken only I am here to move my foot, as in a trust fall. There might be others on that path but they are responsible for their feet. Don't think for one minute that my next steps have been quick to achieve and I haven't stumbled, fallen into dark holes, rolled down the hill, wished to not be there, sought a way out, prayed. What I have learned, my life is what I make of it. I can be negative or positive in my point of view. I can sit and allow it to pass me by or get up and do something; after all, I've had my adventure and what could there possibly be left for me. I have NO IDEA. But as with that skiff tied to the post, some 60 odd years ago, I have to step in and untie the lines for a delicious adventure yet determined.
Holy cow, look at the time; sometimes these chats sure do wander. Temperature is beginning to drop ..... I need a fire, a cup of Ginger Tea and curl up with a seed catalog, or a nap perchance to dream.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
CAST IRON to CLAY
Cast Iron …… that was the original concept to explore, but then it is confining for my presently fragmented thoughts. Still there are other aspects of life that now call to me. Returning to clay and building organic ware, an artistic outlet that is necessary to my life. As children, we made mud pies and share them with our families. Now, we sink our hands into the clay and let it take us to wonderful creations to serve or display the foods from our cast iron pots. Can’t believe I am able to rationalize almost anything with food. That is just a little sad.
Nonetheless, not particularly interested in throwing …… oh, yes, I did give it a go …….. and, what I discovered about me, I really do not enjoy the repetitiveness of throwing. I do, however, enjoy the discovery of where the next piece of clay will go and how it works with the body. Loving textures and glazes that break, run, interact, and I find most happy accidents are just that. Corn is giving me the greatest feel of accomplishment. Wish the pieces could be seen. Perhaps you might feel the same. Amazingly, for whatever reason, think with every layer of the shuck something wonderful is about to be revealed. Brownstone Clay, simple pleasures of being wrist deep in it and the tables of food that can be served on it. WOW, what’s for dinner?
Nonetheless, not particularly interested in throwing …… oh, yes, I did give it a go …….. and, what I discovered about me, I really do not enjoy the repetitiveness of throwing. I do, however, enjoy the discovery of where the next piece of clay will go and how it works with the body. Loving textures and glazes that break, run, interact, and I find most happy accidents are just that. Corn is giving me the greatest feel of accomplishment. Wish the pieces could be seen. Perhaps you might feel the same. Amazingly, for whatever reason, think with every layer of the shuck something wonderful is about to be revealed. Brownstone Clay, simple pleasures of being wrist deep in it and the tables of food that can be served on it. WOW, what’s for dinner?
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