My Mom & The Fishermen
Her father fished
Her brothers fished
Her husband fishes
In-laws and cousins and friends fish
And all of her sons fish too
Except for one.
Grandpa had a saying that hung on the wall
“A boat is hole in the water in which you pour money”
Not sure if he meant it mad or meant it funny
Probably depended on the day. And the boat.
But the framed photo just across from it,
The one with his proudest smile illuminating his hand,
His index finger hooking and raising an extremely large fish by the gills
Makes me think I know the answer.
Two strokes took his cast away.
They took other things too, sometimes piece by imperceptible piece, sometimes in huge swaths.
Grandpa’s been all the way gone for nearly 30 years now.
Since (and before) then, my mom—a bona fide fisherwoman whether she chose it or not—has spent chilly Montana evenings taking all her grandkids out
Aboard those same anachronistic metal boats
Like mostly-buoyant lake dinosaurs that require daily bailing with
the same cut-off-milk-jug scoop that Grandpa used
Sputtering outboard motor
Shedding mayfly carcasses everywhere
Vampiric mosquitoes menacing about
Wooden plank bench
Some pocket snacks, if I know my Mom.
They set out in the dusk.
Come back in the dark.
They come back with fish
As well as newly minted fishermen and fisherwomen (fisherkids?)
Later there are new photos next to the classic one of Grandpa
Big smiles on fisherkids proudly raising caught fish skyward by the gills
You saw mine just a paragraph ago.
Mom stitched and framed a little piece that sits on a side table at the cabin:
“Here lives a fisherman and his greatest catch.”
Dad takes the kids out too, but in his own way.
Mom takes them trolling/trawling/however you spell it.
Dad is more of a purist.
Dad’s fishing isn’t the kind with six packs of brewskis and a can of worms.
Flies, not lures.
Rods, not poles. (It’s the fishing version of cinema’s movie vs film.)
He invites the grandkids up to the Bear River for official, well-planned Flyfishing Camps. There are probably itineraries. The kids have fun. They learn a lot.
I don’t know his conversion rate,
but I doubt he’d be offended or surprised that mom’s is better.
That said, if a grandkid does take to Grandpa’s style of fishing, they take hard.
It’s a deeper conversion. They might even do it on their own.
A lifetime thing, sometimes.
But grandkids line up to fish with mom again.
They might line up to do anything with her, though.
I would.
Except for maybe, well…fishing.
