This morning I got a
call from Grandma,
asking for a favor from me
to help her out with my Grandpa.
It seems
today Grandpa was in her way,
and she was
hoping I could take Grandpa fishing for the
day.
Grandma said she was baking for the
fair,
but Grandpa was underfoot and now
sitting in her easy chair.
Yearly trips going
fishing since I was three,
I was certain
Otter Creek was the place where we would
be.
Anxious to ask Mom would it be
okay,
if Grandpa and I went fishing, or would
she need me today.
Mom said she thought it
would be just fine,
Grandpa had taught me how
to hook, bait and cast the line.
Learning
to put my fish on a stringer,
taking fish
from the hook without catching it on my
finger.
Grandpa said some fish had to go
back,
there was a law on size and limit; and
I should keep track.
I was excited for us
to be going again,
because he wasn't just my
Grandpa, he was my best friend.
Explaining
some day I would be a man,
and plenty of
things I needed to know and try to
understand.
It wasn't too long and
Grandpa was there,
carrying our fishing poles
and enjoying the warm summer air.
Grandma had
packed us a big picnic lunch,
chocolate chip
cookies and grapes on which we could
munch.
We walked down to the old covered
bridge,
knowing from past trips Otter Creek
was just over the ridge.
Finding the perfect
spot and tree for shade,
Grandpa poured us
both a cup of Grandma's cold
lemonade.
Both of our fishing poles were
all ready,
Grandpa reminding me to keep the
fishing pole real steady.
Seeing a rainbow
trout nibble at my line,
Grandpa said, "Okay
reel him on in, you're doing just
fine."
A small boy's joy from his own
revelry,
interrupted my thoughts; it was my
own young son of three.
Taking his hand we
headed out the door,
hanging a sign up that
read, "Gone Fishin’, be back at four."
©
Brenda Sparkman
March 5,
2007
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