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Topic: Gone Fishing (02/01/07)
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TITLE: 1516 Right Street Logansport | Previous Challenge Entry
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02/08/07 -
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“Grab your apron,” he called as he and my brother headed to the garage. Remember the fifties, the garage stood at the back of the lot, exiting to the alleyway. I fumbled with the long strings of my bow; normally the strings trailed beneath a beautiful bow, today it flopped like loose chains round a run away dog. Grandpa laid on the horn as I hurried down the sidewalk pass the vegetable garden ripe with fresh tomatoes and cabbages where Grandma spent hours here loving her garden to perfection.
Hopping into the car I smoothed my dress out as my brother smirked at me from the front seat.
We arrived into a dream land for my imagination. Rolling hills, trees, grassy knolls and a clean flowing stream. Remember those when you could see every rock and weed on the bottom and the fish as they swam past. I was a princess on an adventure.
“Here Cheri,” said Grandpa Adams,” Hold the bait can, while I show you how to use the bait.”
Taking a wiggling piece of brown from the can he pierced it with the hook, still wiggling he handed it to David, “Here you go.” Piercing the next one, I thought I would be ill. He dropped my line into the water before handing me the pole. My seven year old mind was frozen there sat a small worm wiggling in a clear stream of blue. While I sat petrified my brother’s line started a dance across the stream. Grandpa grabbed the pole and helped him reel in his catch. Taking the shiny fish from the hook Grandpa set it on the green grass and I watched as the poor fishes gills ceased to move.
Watching the water I wished all the fish away from my struggling worm. Two swam by, but one paused turning to the right he looked right at the bait, NO, I screamed inside, please swim away, but its eyes caught my little friends struggle, reaching up he gulped, than tried to escape.
“Hull him in Cheri,” Grandpa called, I sat petrified watching him wiggle and try to run but my pole kept pulling him back. Grandpa hoisted him up to lie struggling by his deceased friend, I glanced at my first catch slowly ceasing to breathe till it lay like a stone on the beautiful green hillside now full of shadows
My brother smirked at me he was enjoying my discomfort immensely.
“Good job! Cheri grab some more bait and bait your own hook.”
I wasn’t a murderer I was not going to sacrifice another brown worm to kill another fish. I dawdled with the flowers and the grass, looking at the sky I started imagining the puffy clouds as different animals escaping there hunters, floating away from this dismal shore.
“Cheri, come here,” Grandpa called. “I brought you here to fish,” he handed me the bucket.
I never wanted to anger people, I hate yelling, but I could not touch the worms.
David’s smile was so big the sun was bouncing off his white teeth. “She’s afraid of worms.”
Grandpa chuckled, “She is, is she, come here Cheri.”
Pulling my large apron pocket open he dumped the bait can into my apron. My screams sent every bird flying from the trees and David rolling with laughter across the grass. My Grandfather turned around and continued to fish, as I ran screaming up and down the once beautiful grassy knoll when I was too tired to move, he came and emptied my beautiful apron of its unwanted occupants. Needless to say my enchanted hillside was littered with the ghosts of little worms and fish. I never fished again
But one day the Lord asked me to fish for Him, for the souls of the little children. The bait, love, the love of the Son of God, fishing took on a whole new meaning, not one of fear but joy.
Matthew 19:14 But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: of such is the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 4:19 And He saith unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.
Grandpa Adams never took me fishing again, but showed me in other ways he was sorry and loved me dearly.
Scripture King James
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A sweet and witty memory, tenderly written.