The Lake

It wasn't just the fun of going fishing, no, it was the whole experience of the excursion that made fishing trips with the family so memorable. It meant two days and nights of staying in a rustic cabin that had no inside toilet, no heat, and cooking on a wood stove, if one wanted to cook. It meant paper plates, paper cups, plastic spoons and forks, and thermoses of cold beverages and hot coffee for the adults. By the way, no coffee tastes better than the coffee boiled in an old fashioned coffee pot on top of a wood burning stove.

It meant horseshoe games, mom's homemade cakes, potato salads, cans of beans, fried chicken, meatloaf sandwiches, and watermelon. It meant going into the little store and bar to rent the boat, purchase bait, and listen to the latest gossip from the patrons at the bar as to where the fish were biting the best on the lake. Epic stories of larger than life trophy catches were told to anyone willing to listen by the grizzled old timers who frequented the lake.  

It meant running up and down the pathway from the cabins to the docks, and it meant trying out your pole on the dock, just in case there happened to be a large bass lurking close by. However, one mostly caught tiny perch and some catfish fishing off of the dock, although I did accidently catch a pike one time while testing my casting skills while standing on the dock. 

It meant getting awakened by my dad long before the morning sun poked through the morning mist, and hurriedly dressing, our teeth chattering from the morning chill, and swallowing a quick cup of coffee that my dad let my brother and I have, even though we were so young. (I am a life long coffee drinker). We dressed in our flannel shirts, jeans, and winter type coats, and headed for the dock and our rented boat. 

It meant about three hours with my dad out in a boat in the morning clouds freezing with cold, but bursting with youthful joy and excitement to be on the lake, casting for bass, and anticipating hauling in a ten pound species. Of course, the ten pound catch never happened, but did I ever tell you about the one that got away?

It meant coming back to the shore where my mother had our breakfast waiting, and a chance to warm our cold feet and hands as the sun began to send shimmering rays of heat down to earth. Our bellies full, our extremities warmed up, we shed our heavy clothes for summer attire and once again headed for the dock, our rented boat, and more fishing on the lake. 

It means now, years and years later, warm memories of those simple times. It means that I smile, and say thank you to my parents for those times when family and nature were united.