When I think back to times of my youth
Wonderful memories I have from days of yore
When we would put aside every chore
And take off to the creek
With a cane fishing pole
To find the perfect spot in a deep hole
Where the catfish liked to hide.
We'd put on a wriggling redworm as bait
And sink the line in the water and wait
While lying on the creek bank
For the float to sink
And snatch the hook up quick as a wink
To see what we had caught.
Now, a fisher I certainly ain't
For usually I either yanked too quick
And saw my bait still on the hook
Or waited too late
And gone was my bait
With nary a fish to show.
Then, down the pole was thrown
And into the creek I would wade
Trying to catch in my hands
The minnows swimming by
But little success did I have
Hard as I would try
Because the minnows are slippery little creatures
Teaming every where
Darting here and there.
All was not in vain
'Cause I enjoyed wading in water nice and cold
And farther would I wade
Finding wonderful shade
Of the weeping willow growing on the bank
Where I would climb up and rest a while
With n'er a thought
That no fish had I caught
But enjoyed the freedom I felt
On a wonderful summer day
As I whiled the time away.
Momma, on the other hand,
Was skilled at fishing with a cane pole
And often we were told
To "Go on now.
Don't muddy the water and splash around
For then no fish will be found
'Cause you will scare them away
And we will go hungry this day.
Let me fish here alone
For I just know I will catch enough fish
To make a good supper
And that you know is my wish."
Nobody fishes with a cane any more
Nor strings their catch on a forked limb
Like in days of yore
But prefer a rod and reel
And a special lure
To go fishing in a stream
Where the water rushes by
Catching the fish on the fly
Wearing rubber wading boots and a hat to shade their face
And a wicker basket in which their fish to place.
Carry me back to that time in the past
When fishing with Momma I would go
And in the summer sun I would bask
While she fished to her heart's content
In the gently flowing creek
Running through the bottom land
And Momma would have the time of her life
Enjoying a sunny day peaceful and free from strife
Catching enough catfish to skin and fry
And we would sit around the homemade table
Spread with a pretty oilcloth
Enjoying a sumptuous meal straight from Mommas hand...
Momma, all the younguns and Daddy, Momma's man,
Thinking life was grand.
©Jane Ward Smith
June 17, 2008
Used With Permission
All Rights Reserved By Author