Gone Fishin'

Ever since we moved to the wilds of Missouri, I've been consumed by the desire to go fishing. This desire has been hampered by the realities that I have no fishing gear (or funds with which to buy it); I'm don't remember enough about fishing even to identify what I've caught (never mind whether or not it's legal and/or good eating); I don't remember how to clean the fish I catch; and last, and most important, I have no one to fish with (my husband, Doug, has absolutely zero interest in fishing). These are fairly discouraging obstacles, and yet, the desire persists.

I know why I want to fish so badly. It conjures up memories of being with my father, of being young, of feeling that the world was full of glorious possibilities. I started fishing with daddy when I was just a tiny little toddler. Daddy would take me to a neighboring pond or small lake, upend a bucket and place me on it, with the admonishment to "be careful and don't fall off." Of course, I always did...and usually ended up in the drink. Mama got tired of me coming home dirty and muddy and (all too often) soaking wet, and told daddy if it happened again that that would be the end of our fishing expeditions. We went fishing several more times without incident. Then it happened. I got excited looking at something in the water, the bucket tilted, and in I went. Laughingly, daddy fished me out of the water, only to hear me sobbing "don't tell mama." Since I was completely soaked, I don't know how, or if, he actually accomplished keeping that secret. I only know that I continued being his fishing partner. Even after I married and moved away, daddy and I would sneak away and go fishing every time I came home, until he became too ill to go.

I haven't been fishing since daddy died. And I do miss it. Maybe I just miss him. I don't ever remember feeling as safe or content or happy as when I was sitting on the bank of a pond, or a lake, or a river, with a fishing pole in my hand and daddy by my side, spinning one of his magical tales. The whole scene is imbued in my memory with such peace and simple joy. I could use some of that in my life right now.

Yesterday, some people Doug works with wanted to go fishing at the lake near our house. It is a private lake, but I have permission to fish there. So they took me with them, and loaned me some fishing equipment. They were kind and patient as I tried to remember the basics of fishing. I remember thinking, as I cast my line into the water for the first time in many years, "This is wonderful. This is what I needed." But it wasn't. The area around the lake was overgrown with weeds and brush that reached, often, above my shoulders. There was no way to upend a bucket and sit. I was fishing with strangers. The equipment was not mine, and I worried I would damage it. I am old now, and was having a bad knee day, so I could not stand for extended periods of time. None of this reminded me of fishing with daddy. It wasn't long before I gave up.

I have a vision in my mind, in 3D and technicolor, about the fishing trip I need. I will get some gear, somehow. I will re-educate myself about catching, identifying, and cleaning fish. I will convince someone I love to be my fishing companion. I will take a bucket with me that I can upend and sit on. I will appreciate the peace and simple joy that surrounds and embraces me in my quest for finned dinner. And daddy will be there, too. I always carry him with me, everywhere I go.