One thing that Lydia had to do while home was go fishing one day. It was a peaceful couple of hours, and the fish were biting. That's the good news.The bad news is that the hooks I had were too big for the small fish. Bluegill would take the worms, but I had hooks for good-sized trout.
Tommy and Jack and Anna had good bites, hard enough to take the line out a bit, but nothing really took the hook enough to land a fish.
My father always said the fun part was getting the bite; the rest was what happened before you put it into a frying pan.
The pond was pretty, once you were able to get by a trash can at the front gate. I guess city people are too self-indulgent to understand that when you clean fish on a hot day and through them into a trash can, the smell is not going to be appreciated an hour or two later by others coming to enjoy the pond.
I swear I could smell that horrible sweet stink of those cans for almost a week. The wind would blow just right, and in my mind, I could smell that horrible smell.
Some people pay thousands of dollars to lose an appetite. It only cost me the price of a fishing license, a few nightcrawlers and the amount of money it took to put new line on my pole. I still can't eat anything without thinking about that smell.
Tommy loved this fishing spot. There was a dry space to sit, and there were no thorns or rocks that made it uncomfortable to sit and watch the bubble at the end of his line.
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