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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1561061
Rated: E · Other · Activity · #1561061
Sometimes you just have to go fishing
The bills pile up on the table; gas, electricity, phone. The TV is full of obnoxious car salesmen, and political debate. The tractor needs work, and the truck has a bearing going out. The disc needs work before I can disc up some ground. I need to buy farm diesel before I can do anything. It is obviously time to go fishing. I go through my tackle box on the porch. I cut off about 30 ft of old line and put new swivels on. I inspect my lures, and reorder my tackle box. My mind’s ear is still hearing the muffled noise of all my burdens, like a TV turned up too loud in another room. I load up the four wheeler with my fishing gear, and soon there is nothing but the sound of robins down in the canyon, and the soothing sound of a dove in the cottonwood tree. I drive slowly down past the cows to the pond, out of sight, out of sound, out of mind. A flock of turkeys runs out in front of me; exposed in the pasture, they run towards the creek. I am already enjoying my small vacation. The wind does not find me here, it is quiet and still. A grey crane on the opposite shore is paused with one leg lifted, waiting for a careless perch. The pond is clear and spring fed, and swirls of feeding fish are evident on the calm surface. I stand on the bank and pick a likely spot out on the water, and cast my lure there. As I reel it in, just before the shore, there is a surprising tug, and the line races out into the blue black water. Ah…. The bass are spawning in the shallow water and the mama bass are protective of their nests. Sure enough, it is a nice four-pounder that battles me, full of anger at my intrusion. She is beautiful with a fat belly full of eggs, green and black, strong and healthy. I carefully pull the lure from her lip, and set her free. I am oblivious to time. The sun finds my winter parched white skin, and I feel the healing begin. The wind in the cedars slowly chase the echoes of trouble from my countenance. The water is full of fish, and somehow I had forgotten the real treasure here on my farm. How did that happen? I am a fool, stumbling lost, upon an oasis. I can hear a quail call out in the pasture, as cattle graze on the horizon. Ducks circle overhead, and land warily on the opposite side of the pond, grateful for a reprieve from the harsh wind. There is delicate harmony here, and I am just a grateful guest, on my best behavior. Green turtles climb up on gray cedar stumps in the middle of the pond, and a snake swims slowly across the calm water. I catch fish and try my different lures. I catch bass and crappie, and with the smaller lures catch perch. I am not fishing for dinner, just releasing my worries into the dark waters with every fish. And with every fish I am surprised and happy to feel the power of freedom and health at the end of my line. It is here anytime for me. I feel rich. The water smells of red dirt, decaying leaves and big catfish on the bottom. I think about my next fishing trip, about sitting here at night, in a lawn chair, fishing off the bottom with chicken livers. I have to update my tackle box. I can feel my priorities change. The pond has worked its magic. After a while the fish quit biting, and my lures are no longer irresistible. I sit down on a smooth red rock, and watch the ducks for a while. I felt the power of the fish today, and they somehow gave me the power to fight my battles tomorrow. I can leave here grateful, and my mind has again a quiet place where the fish are biting, and the ducks and I can find refuge, no matter the endless struggle, and harsh winds that blow overhead.
© Copyright 2009 rob brian (brianrm2358 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1561061