Fishing Anyone?

Today’s writing is about one of my older brothers. It also deals with what we would do in my small town for entertainment. This one is not specific to my area. I served with a number of people who came from rural areas, and I heard stories that, well not exactly the same, constantly took me back to some of own memories. I promise that the event really happened. I never experienced anything like this before or since.

Before we get into the event, it would help to let you know a little bit about my brother. I am the youngest of four – all boys. My poor mother was definitely outnumbered though I must say that during my childhood, she held her own. Each of us definitely had his own personality. While we may share some physical characteristics, we are each unique. This is a great thing, but boy does it cause for interesting holidays.

The interesting thing about the brother I have chosen for tonight is that he is named after my dad, and, more than any of the other three, shared many of the same personality traits. Based on stories told to me by the older generation, my dad was sort of a rebel. He caused problems in town. His teen years took place in the ‘50s. I hate to say it, but I often picture him as one of the greasers. My brother didn’t get into trouble with the law, but he liked to be the one to break the rules. He loved to work on cars with his friends and still does even today. He often liked to do things in his own way at his own time.

I grew up watching him. I grew up wishing that I had the courage to rebel in half the ways he did. However, I also saw him get in trouble and decided that boring wasn’t so bad. I can remember his sneaking back into our room late one night only to find my dad sitting on the radiator waiting for him. We won’t even get into the magazines that he hid under my bed so he wouldn’t get into trouble.

This memory doesn’t involve him getting into trouble. Tonight, I remember a very cool afternoon that the two of spent near our home. My brother is a hunter and fisherman. He does both for food. He makes sure to use whatever he catches. Hunting to him is not just a sport. While he hunts the same as any other person, sometimes when he goes fishing – well…….he has his own way of doing things.

I would have to say that I was 15 at the time which would put him at 17. I believe that it was February. All I remember is that there was snow on the ground and ice over the area he took me to fish. With the weather I dealt with over the past weekend, I think it triggered this story in my head. The two of us in sneakers, jeans, shirts, and just our school jackets headed out.

It was a weekend and we were both bored. My brother asked if I wanted to go fishing with him. Now for me, fishing isn’t exactly an activity that I would volunteer to do. However, and this is the down side of coming from the rural area, a weekend in the middle of winter doesn’t really offer up many other options. I figured why not. We threw on our coats and started walking down route 18 to the creek. We talked about whatever teen brothers would talk about to pass the time. I believe that I noticed he didn’t have a fishing pole with him, but knowing my brother he had something planned. He always did.

I can remember getting down to the creek area. You had to leave the road and go down a steep incline to the water. This place was quiet in the summer time. In the winter, it was more than silent. It has an eeriness to it. Not many cars passed by and with a golf course across the road and a cemetery nearby, no noises came from the neighbors. Dormant trees lined the creek area. Once in a while when a small breeze would come by you would hear the creaking as the bare, sad-looking corpses of trees moved back and forth. Had this been late in the evening with the sun setting, one would have thought that a bad horror film was starting. Fortunately, the sun stood high in the sky or as high as it would get for this time of year. We stood there and looked at the creek. I wondered how we would fish, my brother was plotting.

The ice-covered most of the water. A few small holes allowed one to see that the water still flowed underneath the frozen covering. The water moved at a slow rate, but you could see a small ripple here and there. It felt as if the water was trying to stop completely but couldn’t. I stared at the holes somewhat amazed at nature. The thickness of the ice allowed us to stand on it yet underneath the water still moved, life still continued. My brother told me that this looked good. I stared at him still wondering just how one fished without a rod and reel. I soon learned.

My brother moved up and down the ice. He enlarged a hole. He moved along the ice some more and pointed. Under the ice a dark shadow moved. It was a slow shadow, but you could see the dark spot going back and forth. As he moved on the top of the ice, the shadow moved in the opposite direction. He controlled it.

He finally gave me my instructions. I was to find the shadows and walk them toward the hole he had worked on. He stood on the opposite side of the hole. I was intrigued enough to do what he wanted, asked me to do. By now I had realized his plan. This I had to see.

I walked along the ice. Sure enough, I found a shadow. I moved myself to be on the side opposite the hole. With every step the shadow moved toward my brother. I had to take a step left or right to keep it on course; it took the path of my choosing. We inched closer to the hole. My brother took a stance with his feet wide apart. He crouched down. His hands over the hole like a catcher.

I took a final step and the shadow turned into a fish. Once in the hole, you could see it clearly in the slow-moving water. Before I could even say, “There it is”, my brother had reached in grabbed it, pulled it out, and knocked it out. He had caught his fish. He had caught my attention. He had caught my respect. Respect not for fishing, I still didn’t care for it. He caught my respect because he didn’t feel the need to always do things the way people said it had to be done. He had a task to do, and he figured out a way to do it. It wouldn’t have been my way, but he didn’t care. I think he actually liked the showmanship as much as the catch. It allowed him to say that there is more than one way to do things.

My brother and I had different sets of friends. He liked to work on cars and get greasy. I liked to write and create stories. Being from a small town, our circles of friends often intertwined and we hung out doing things with each other. When my cousins were in town, we would all go out and bowl or some other activity. However, this is the day that always sticks in my mind. This was the time it was just the two of us. It was the time, I let my brother show me just who he was/is. This is a day I often use to describe my brother. A person who can solve problems and get the job done.

Thank you for meandering with me tonight. Thanks for reading about my brother.