This past weekend, we took one of our grandsons on a picnic and fishing adventure to Elvis Presley Lake in Tupelo. Despite the ridiculously hot temperature, it was a memory-making experience. It also brought back lots of memories from my own childhood.
I don’t think I ever considered myself a tomboy back then, but my favorite adventures as a child rarely involved frills or bows or tea parties. Maybe God was just preparing me really, really well to be the mom of two little boys who loved everything to do with the Mississippi outdoors – including fishing.
To be honest, I do not remember the first time my daddy took me and my sister fishing because it was a constant part of our childhood. But I do know that he started us out with a small cane pole and a simple hook and bobber with a nice, fat worm.
Now, that is a story in itself.
We dug our own worms back then, and that was so much fun. We marched out to the potato crib and watched as my daddy pulled up the few bricks holding down a large piece of rusted tin placed purposefully behind the back of that ancient, leaning (somewhat scary looking) shed.
Daddy always made us stay back a bit until he gingerly lifted the tin and made sure there were not any snakes taking a cool respite under that makeshift worm bed. Then, he gave us free rein to snatch up the nice fat worms on the surface of the dirt. And if needed, he took his hoe and gently broke up the ground a little until we had a jar full of bait.
Photo credit: mdwfp.com
We waited eagerly for him to cover up our secret treasure trove of worms and place the bricks back on top. Finally, we were all set to grab our poles and head out on our fishing adventure.
Like most Mississippi fishermen, Daddy had his favorite fishing holes, and the spot of the day depended on what we were hoping to catch – bream, crappie, bass, or catfish. When he had us two girls in tow, we usually ended up at a large pond nearby so that we could catch our share of bream while he angled for bigger fish.
I doubt he ever had much time to fish on his own since we kept him busy baiting hooks and unsnagging our lines from the trees and shrubs encircling the pond. And of course, every tiny bream had to be removed gently from the hook and celebrated big time. (Nowadays, that celebration involves a few perfectly posed pictures for online bragging.)
But back then, I was the absolute queen of snagging my line because I was too impatient and independent to sit quietly where he cast my line. Unlike my gentle, quiet sister, I did not readily accept his constant guidance and help. I wanted to choose my own fishing spot, bait my own hook, catch my own fish, and take it off the hook, and go at it again. All by myself.
I thrived on “doing it myself,” even though it took me ten times longer without his help. Plus, I constantly got my line all tangled up, and consequently, I just needed Daddy even more than if I had accepted his loving help in the first place. (By the way, that independent streak got me into lots of trouble through the years – until I learned to let my heavenly Father guide me just as my earthly father did.)
I saw that same independent streak in our grandson this past weekend. He wanted to prove to us and to himself that he was already a good fisherman. And for the most part, he did – until his new-fangled rod and reel got all tangled up just like my simple cane pole did over 50 years ago.
I laughed quietly to myself and thought of my sweet daddy and his patience with me. I recalled the endless moments he spent with us on ponds and creeks and lakes throughout North Mississippi. In my mind, the precious memories all run together now into one silent movie. But the beauty of those moments is crystal clear – for they were filled with love and laughter and hundreds of tiny, wiggling fish that still loom large in my mind.
Truly, the lessons I learned while fishing taught this Mississippi girl that love cannot be measured in ounces or pounds. No! True love is measured in minutes and hours and days upon days of patiently attending to even the most stubborn and unyielding objects of our affection.
For me, much of that weighty, important time was spent with a daddy who was always there, always waiting and willing to untangle my line.
So why not grab a fishing pole and some bait and head out to make some memories right now?
For a list of 18 public state lakes managed by the Mississippi Department of Wildlife, Fisheries, and Parks, go to mdwfp.com/fishing-boating/lakes. Or try one of the various privately-owned, pay-to-fish lakes in Mississippi, such as MW Catfish Pay Lakes in Houston, Mississippi. Call (662) 436-6715 for details.
And if you need a fishing partner, let me know. For no extra charge, I can still help you get your line tangled up pretty quickly.
