Gone Fishin'

Fishing With Grandpa

Another year, another vacation, another fishing trip with Grandpa. Two Grandpas--Grandpa Dennis and Great-Grandpa Ed.

Flashback: Opening day of fishing season every year, we were at Grandpa Ed and Grandma Ruby's house on the lake. We'd get up bright and early and fish off of the dock with our cousins. Dad offered prizes, a dollar each, for the person who caught the biggest fish, the first fish, the most fish, the smallest fish. Sometimes we'd swim later, and we'd have contests with our cousins to see who could swim the farthest, who could hold their breath the longest. There was always junk food on the dock, and fish for dinner.

This is how we create memories for our children. My children will remember Grandpa Ed hooking fish and hollering, "C'mon now! Come and get this one! Reel it in!" They'll remember learning to cast by themselves for the first time. They'll remember holding a slippery fish in their hands.

Anthony Lake is beautiful. They'll remember this too, fishing from the shore. The mountain, the rocks, the blue water. Watching the ospreys.

This lovely lady loves to fish. She's patient and watchful. She cleans her own fish too. Her first...second?...year fishing we jokingly told her she had to clean her fish to eat them. And she did it, so we never got around to telling her that we didn't really mean it. Now she helps her grandpa clean fish when we get home, without being asked.

Not only is she a patient fisherwoman, she's patient about posing for the camera too. I suspect that most of the fisherfolk would rather not have me clicking away while they're trying to fish and were all rather relieved when my camera and I took the restless younger gents for a hike around the lake.

Let's say you don't like to fish. You consider yourself a city girl, an indoor kind of gal. You think nature is dirty and itchy. Read a gossip mag and listen to your iPod while those around you are slaughtering innocent fish. Tell anyone who will listen that you think you're a vegetarian.

Later on, you might even admit that it wasn't all that bad being out of doors in the fresh air.

We'll all remember Bodacious. She's a smart well-mannered dog, a bit of a crotchety old lady by now, who adores my dad. Dad has had a Brittany spaniel since I was in high school. First Lucy, our family pet. Then Belle. One summer, I helped Belle with her first litter of puppies. Then Bo. Bo was a puppy when my lovely lady was a baby. Now Bo's getting gray around the muzzle and eyebrows, slowing down a bit. I don't know how many more summers she'll be fishing with us. It certainly won't be the same without her.

Sweet patient gent. Fine fine young man. He loves to fish. His birthday present last fall was a brand new fishing pole. This year he sat patiently the entire time at the lake, watching his pole. Watching and watching and watching. He was in the dead spot. He didn't get a single bite, even though he moved twice.


"C'mon now! Got one! Come and get it!"

Good thing Grandpa Ed knows how to cast right into the good spot.

Gone fishin'

Wordless Wednesday: Fishing with Grandpa

Fishing with Grandpa Ed

This is Grandpa Ed, fishing for catfish on the Snake River. He likes to fish. "Want to go catfishing tomorrow?" he boomed to loving husband, so off they went the next day with my dad, the lovely ladies and one fine young gent.

I was awed by my Grandpa Ed when I was little. He's very very tall and gruff and loud and kind to us girls all at the same time. When we were little we adored him and we were a little afraid of him at the same time. Now we just adore him. He's married to Grandma Ruby who is soft and sweet and very talented. Grandpa Ed hasn't been able to hear well for as long as I can remember. My lovely lady with autism absolutely adores him because he's not always trying to talk to her. She doesn't like to fish, but she likes to go along on the catfishing trips with Grandpa Ed. She had a conversation with him about dogs, one of her current obsessions. If you meet her, she'll ask you, "Do you like big dogs or little dogs?" then she'll inform you "I like little dogs because they're cute." Most of us humor her by agreeing that yes, indeed, little dogs are cute. Not Grandpa Ed. "I can't stand little dogs. Too yappy!" he told her. And that was that. She loved it.

"Likes" to fish is a gross understatement. "Lives" might be a more appropriate substitute. On their honeymoon, Grandpa Ed bought Grandma Ruby a bunch of peaches and went fishing with a friend, leaving her to can all of the peaches. Grandma always laughs a little when she tells the story. Grandpa doesn't like that story all too much. Maybe if he'd known he'd be hearing about it for the rest of his life he'd have stayed and helped can peaches.

Naturally when he heard we were all going fishing at the lake, he wanted to come along too. Four generations of fisherfolk at the lake. Loving husband is just an in-law, but he had to fill in for our generation, because my Busy Farm sis and I were too busy taking pictures. Plus we don't have our fishing licenses, and since my dad owns a sporting goods store it wouldn't be such good form for his daughters to be fishing without licenses. It's a good excuse, anyway, gets us off the hook. (Get it? Off the hook? Heh, heh. Humor me with a little courtesy laugh at least.)

Grandpa Ed is a great fisher-with-kids. Soon as he'd hooked a fish he'd pass the pole to one of the youngest generation so that they could catch a fish. "Got one!" he'd holler. "C'mon and get it, now." With the Poohsticks five and the Busy Farm eight, there were plenty of young ladies and gents ready to grab a pole. He'd help them get the fish off the hook, bait it up and toss it out again so that they could catch another. With all the kids fishing, and Grandpa Ed and Grandpa Dennis and loving husband baiting and casting, we caught 61 fish that afternoon. "If anyone asks," my dad reminds the kids,"You've only caught five fish." The next day a friendly lady asked the kids, "Did you catch any fish?" "I caught six!" pipes up one little gent. "I caught seven!" chirps a little lady. I think they just miscounted, myself.



Some day these kids are going to look back and remember fishing on this sunny day at the beautiful lake with their great-grandpa, Grandpa Ed. Life is good.

Fishin' with Grandpa

Pictures of last year's trip here. And pictures from the year before here.

The weather was perfect, the fishing was fine, the company was great.

And it's good to be back home. More to come, but first I have to get caught up on the laundry.

Gone fishin'

Fishing with Grandpa

It's beautiful up here. Fishing with Grandpa is the highlight of the summer for the lovely ladies and fine young gents. They talk about fishing with Grandpa all throughout the year and when summer arrives they can barely contain themselves for the anticipation. Grandpa is the most patient fishing teacher and helper around. I suspect it's really Grandpa that's the highlight of the summer and catching fish pushes the outing to the top.

Anthony Lake is a highlight of my summer. Stunning. While my kind husband took the gents for a walk I listened to the water and the ospreys and not much else. The quiet is beautiful. The ospreys were diving for fish. (Scroll down and check out the feet, wow! You can also hear a recording of their cry.)

The drive up to the lake is beautiful. Baker County is beautiful country. We spend a few hours fishing, enjoying the air and the company, then we head back down the mountain. Simple, quiet. Not the activity and noise and thrill of, say, the county fair or a birthday party. We're creating memories, the kind that renew and refresh us because they remind us of times we spent with people who make us feel treasured and respected. Memories of peaceful time filled with quiet conversation that doesn't go much of anywhere because it doesn't need to go anywhere. It's really about spending time with Grandpa, creating and sharing a mutual love of peace and beauty and the outdoors.

And here we all thought we were just catching fish and trying to keep the baby from falling in the lake.

And after we get home? Mmmmm....Fresh fish for dinner.

Random Ramblings: Vacation

I'm trying to catch up. We've been so busy and there are so many things to post: fishing with Grandpa, the garden, music, more vacation reading. Whew!

Rewind to mid-August: My marvelous golf-mad husband left to golf in Scotland, leaving me alone with Puking Boy and the rest of the crew. We visited my dad in Eastern Oregon for my grandparents 65th wedding anniversary, which my sister already wrote about, and I am lazy enough to link instead of doing all that writing myself. Ignore the part where she compares our children to ants.

Random photo from the shindig, the boys in their matching shirts. Makes it easy to spot them:

And one more, heading back from the party.

I like this picture, not because it's great photography, but because I know that everyone was hot and a bit dusty, a little tired, and in good spirits. The kids had been playing on the baseball diamond and the bleachers, running and jumping and chasing and yelling and just having a good time. The bigger ones looked out for the little ones. The older folk sat around and chatted. It reminded me of get-togethers with friends and family when I was a kid. Lovely.

The gents were worn out. Just after Dad told me that everyone was remarking on how well-behaved all of the kids are, and how they didn't hear us raise our voices to the kids the whole day, an exhausted young gent pitched a screaming yelling crying tantrum over bedtime. I was, um...., less than patient. Might have said something along the lines of go to bed or I'll duct tape you to a tree. Not really, geez. That's only what I wanted to say. I am sure that my threatened consequence was marginally more reasonable. Not one of my most stellar parenting moments, shall we say. Let's hope that none of the folks outside could hear the hollering (not-so-fine young gent) and yelling (not-so-patient mommy) coming from the basement.

We got home from the trip exhausted from driving and driving, and worn thin by steering ladies and gents through unfamiliar environments and food that's different, lugging in the mounds of laundry that we've brought home and so forth. It just plopped right out of my mouth: "I need a vacation from my vacation." Cliche it may be, but I did get my own little vacation. I drove to the Oregon Coast with my sisters for a weekend visit with Mom and her marvelous husband, Dick. I did have to take the youngest fine young gent, so it wasn't all naps and beach strolls, but it was enough of a vacation that I returned refreshed and ready to start school.

Gone fishin'