a fishy memory

I grew up around fish.

I mean I grew up around dead fish.

wait!no. I grew up eating lotsa fish.

My Dad & Grandpa were fishermen to their core.

My Godfather & his father owned a fishing boat and their own company.

As a girl I remember buying bait in the afternoon (sitting next to it and smelling it all the way home) for the fishing night that lay ahead. Depending on the night they could be headed for a "no tresspassing zone"which could be one of countless locations, Lake Matthews, or Kern River.

They would leave late night,when I was sleeping and come back early morning, when I was sleeping.

My room faced the back yard. I would wake up and look out my window, spot the big gray tub of water directly underneath my window and see 1/2 a dozen catfish floating.

I knew they were home.

I would run and go get the old mint green scale out of the closet and take it outside in the back yard.

My Grandpa would come outside already equipped with video camera, knives & sharpening stone.

We would drag the gray tub of fish over to the porch step.

My Dad and Grandpa would stand on the scale - ....weigh themselves then start picking up fish and subtracting the difference to see what each fish weighed.

It was a tradition.

Whom ever caught the biggest fish went into the "Allen Hall of Fame of Fish"

My Grandpa still has all the VHS tapes.

They both filleted fish, however I was much more interested in the way my Grandpa did it.

Looking back now I was watching National Geographic happen in my own backyard.

There is no real purpose to this story other than the fact that its just a childhood memory I have.

Before I snapped this photo today, I stood there for a few minutes and let the man sitting in his chair still and quiet take me back to when I was 10.

I teared up and thanked God for allowing me to feel like a 10 year old and for helping me remember this memory in such great detail.

so quiet & still.