This week, as I sat down to write, I started out looking for an event to cover. There’s always something happening along the Mississippi Gulf Coast, but I kept circling back to the thought that we don’t always have to wait for an event to get out and do something. One of the greatest gifts of living here is that our waters are always open—ready for us whenever we are.
That truth really hit me on a drive back from Waveland last week. I had gone over looking for art materials, and on the way home I rolled down the windows of my truck and took my time following the beach from Waveland to Ocean Springs. All along the way, I saw families—people from every walk of life—lined up on the shore, sitting on the seawall, or casting from the sand. Parents side by side with their kids, lines in the water, the day slipping by. That’s where the idea for this article came from.
It reminded me of my own earliest memories: climbing into a boat before daylight with my dad. There’s a sound I’ll never forget: the whistle of a motor finally catching, followed by the smell of gas bubbling up from the water. If we launched from Pascagoula Point, I always thought it was something amazing to push off from the dock and look up at the towering ships at Ingalls Shipbuilding. The water would be slick as glass, pelicans gliding low across it, gulls calling overhead, and the steady clangs and noises of the shipyard carrying out across the river. All of it mixed together into a kind of music that meant adventure—the world still quiet, the water stretching ahead, and the promise of fish just beyond the horizon.
My dad knew I’d begged to come along, and he also knew that two hours in I’d be asking to go home, patience not yet being a skill I’d mastered. But he always made room for me anyway. And now, when I see those families along the seawall, I realize something I didn’t know back then: fishing with kids isn’t only about teaching thempatience. Sometimes it’s about us parents learning patience with them—learning to slow down, to let the moment unfold, and to be present with them even when they get in the way or grow restless.
All along the Mississippi Gulf Coast, you’ll see it: a couple of folding chairs, a cooler, a handful of rods, and people are set for the day. From morning until the light fades, there they are—casting lines, waiting, talking, laughing. And that’s one of the things I love most about the Mississippi Gulf Coast—the depth and variety of people who find common ground in something as simple as fishing.
We’re lucky here that it’s not just fishing we have. At almost any time of year, you can take a dip net out, drop crab traps, go flounder gigging at night with a lantern, or throw a cast net and see what you bring up. The Gulf gives us options—ways to provide, to teach, and to simply enjoy being outside together.
Because here, we don’t have to wait for an event to experience the Coast. At any time, families can head out—whether it’s to the seawall with a bucket of bait, into the marsh in a little aluminum skiff, or offshore in a big yacht. That freedom is something not every place offers, and it’s one of the greatest gifts of living here: the chance to spend time on the water with your kids, to pass down stories and traditions, and to create memories that last.
Whether you’re out in a boat or sitting on the seawall in a folding chair, we’re all connected through those same waters. Fishing reminds us that this coast is more than just a place—it’s a way of life that ties us together, one cast at a time.
