Fish, Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid.

Summer envelopes us.  The heat is most unbearable.  The air conditioning is our haven.  But Saturday we ventured out and attended a Fishing Derby at our city lake.  It was sponsored by a local business and was a fishing derby for kids.

I’m not much of a fisherwoman, nor is J-Dub a fisherman.  But Ashlynn is calm when she has a fishing pole in her hand.  She shows much patience fishing.

We gathered up a couple of poles, a bucket, and a few creme sodas and joined about 200 other families to attempt to catch a few catfish or perch. 

Boy were we lucky!!!

We found a semi-shady spot with a very small window for casting.  So inevitably, we had a fishing line in the trees quite often.

Jason baited the hook with a big, fat, juicy worm that looked plumb delicious, even to me.  And inevitably, it got stolen at least a half dozen times.
We sat.
And sat.
And sat.
The temperatue rose.
And rose.
And rose.
And rose.
Patience grew thin.
And thinner.
And thinner……Oh, you get the idea.
Then, finally……
a tug……
a pull…..
Oh, it’s a big ‘un!!!
Reel it in!
What in the world???
Oh, just another fishing rod.  It’s at least a 36 incher. 
Moss covered pole, what luck!!
What a catch!!
So we sat some more, and the heat rose some more.
Even the ducks searched out shade.
Then another tug, a pull,
Get to your feet!
Reel it in!!
Don’t let it get away!!
Poor turtle.
And Poor J-Dub, he hates how turtles stink. 
How lucky!!
The clouds floated across the sky.
Fluffy puffs of cotton drifted on us from the cottonwood growing nearby.
We begged the wind to blow and it refused.
The catfish hid.
But anyway, the day was good.
Robert Service.
 I like to look at fishermen

And often times I wish
One would be lucky now and then
And catch a little fish.
I watch them statuesquely stand,
And at the water look;
But if they pull their float to land
It’s just to bait a hook.

I ponder the psychology
That roots them in their place;
And wonder at the calm I see
In ever angler’s face.
There is such patience in their eyes,
Beside the river’s brink;
And waiting for a bite or rise
I do not think they think.

Or else they are just gentle men,
Who love–they know not why,
Green grace of trees or water when
It wimples to the sky . . .
Sweet simple souls! As vain I watch
My heart to you is kind:
Most precious prize of all you catch,
–Just Peace of Mind.

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