Fishing With Grandma

Thinking of my grandma today. Her name was Wilma. Wilma Ward. That was her married name. My grandfather, Bill misses her badly and right now he is 93 years old. He still drives.

I spent a lot of time with my grandparents when I was a kid. During the 80’s. My mom’s parents.

One memory I have of my grandma when I was young was when we would go fishing together.

She was an incredible lady. She gave me a Bible she owned before she passed on. In the first few blank pages of the Bible she showed me I drew a couple of circles when I was only a few years old. In one circle I drew eyes and a smile.

This was amusing to me. She showed me this when I was an adult. That’s when she gave me her Bible. I was touched by the gesture. She said she liked what I drew. I secretly felt bad I marked in her Bible and apologized for what I did.

The spine of the old sacred Bible is cracked from the years of use and seems brittle. I thought to have it rebound but I think I’ll keep it that way. I store it in a cigar humidor I don’t use anymore. It fits perfectly. I take it out and look at it once in a while.

I was completely spoiled to great fishing as a child on my grandparents farm.

I remember her saying, “Son! Let’s go down to the lake and go fishing.” She said she liked fishing and even if she didn’t get a bite it made her feel better. It calmed her she said. I didn’t understand the depth of what she meant then but now I do.

There’s something primal about the outdoors. It feels right. It’s like it’s hardwired into the human DNA. You know the feeling when it feels right.

There was a worn path to the lake from many trips. She would tell me not to brush up against anything green so we would avoid any ticks. I always came back loaded with ticks no matter how hard I tried. It always ended with a warm bath she made for me afterward. She put one small cap of PineSol in my baths to wash away tons of tiny “seed ticks” that would cover my legs. It seemed to work and I liked the smell of the cleaning solution on my skin.

We would get to the lake and pop open the tackle box.

I call it a lake because it seemed so huge to me as a child. She called it “the lake” too. It actually had an island in the middle of it. While fishing I would daydream of being on that little island. Oh what it would be like! Fishing from the bank there.

When I was four years old my grandparents made the lake. A big man in overalls came with a bulldozer and pushed the earth into shape. I was amazed!

He let me ride on the dozer with him. He gave me hard candy from his pocket. I don’t remember the flavor of candy exactly but I’ll never forget the feeling.

The earth was so red and rocky. How would we get water in there? Grandma said “Rain son.”

I tried to imagine. At first I thought they would stretch the well house hose to the lake and turn it on until it filled.

It wasn’t to long and the lake was full. It couldn’t drink another drop. Before it was full, grandma would walk to the lake to see the waterline after each rain. Once it was full as she like she told my grandpa to order fish. They stocked it full of Crappie, Bass, Blue Gill, Catfish, and Perch. They also put a few Carp in there. They weren’t for eating. They were for the moss they said and they grew to at least three foot long. I heard tales of grandma “snagging” one, and it broke her line like you could snap a spiders web.

There was a small spillway from the edge of the lake. It carved a beautiful little waterfall right into the rock. I played in the tiny spillway sometimes while grandma fished. Sometimes I would see tadpoles, crawfish, and even baby catfish that traveled their way from the lake.

It’s like a dream today. Where did that time go? I go back there sometimes in my mind. It feels good to visit.

Now when I say I was spoiled to fishing in the lake I mean to explain that they allowed no one but family to fish there. It was stocked full and grandma would often take a five gallon bucket of fish food and throw it in, one handful at a time. It was a frenzy. The fish went wild. It was a buffet.

It was nothing for me to cast a line and pull in a five pound bass or a giant bull catfish. Most of the time we would throw them back in to freedom. When the weekend came and grandma wanted fish, we would load our stringers.

It was a feast! I cleaned many fish with grandma and grandpa. She made homemade hush puppies.

How could I forget fishing with grandma. When she fished she glowed.

#fishing 

The Stallion In My Dreams - My Horse

 

When you are a child it is the big things that stand out in memory. The earliest memories are like a dream. 

My mom gave birth to me when she was just seventeen years old. Can you imagine how difficult it must be as a parent to have your young daughter become a mother?

Mom said she had never heard my grandpa cry like that before. She said he sobbed. I’m sure it was difficult for her to see and hear. Maybe she didn’t even grasp how soul crushing it was for him.

As a man, and a father of three daughters, I can say there is something so special about a daughters.

You see this beautiful little soul come into the world. Her tiny hands. Her adorable little feet. The sound her cry makes your heart weep. You want to keep her warm, fed, and close to you at all times. 

You see her grow into a toddler, a little girl, a young lady.

You work everyday thinking only of her happiness. When you come home from work she comes running into your arms like she has done so many times before. She says “I love you Daddy!” You tell her you love her too and try to keep a tear from forming because you’re a man. Men are suppose to be tough they say.

You would give your very life if it meant preserving hers. She’s this beautiful female that carry’s your blood in her heart.

You’ve done all you can do up to this point to protect, and safeguard her from the evils of this world. She’s not even fully grown into a woman. Then you are told that your baby girl is going to have a baby. The shock! She was just born it seems. Where did my little girl go? Who took her away from me? What will happen to my daughter? I tried my best to keep her safe! I’ve failed! I’m a terrible father! How could I let this happen to her. It’s all my fault! I should’ve been better!

He weeps.

Time passes, and as many young grandparents do, they help raise their first grandchild. They give their little grandson so much love and provide him happiness.

My grandparents lived on many acres in Southwest Missouri. They owned beef cattle that grazed the property they had to check often. There was a “dump” they called it. It was a giant ditch in the ground, hidden from view by those who might drive down the gravel road grandma and grandpa lived on. In the dump there was old fence wire, tires, and other various objects cast away.

Among the forgotten items I spied an old rocking horse that was free of its rusty frame with springs. I was with my grandparents at the dump. I saw the horse on its side and it begged me to set it free.

Come nap time, I snuggled with the old plastic stallion in grandma’s bed. I was the happiest two year old. Grandpa protested the old horse maybe because it took his side of the bed. Grandma wouldn’t see me part from my new best friend.

Grandpa tried to be part of the nap as best he could. I know the horse didn’t like him much. It kept kicking him in the back. I giggled and fell asleep.

In my dreams I still ride that stallion. There, I am free.