Fishing

Scents or aromas, it is said, can be one of the strongest links to memories that doctors know of. How many times have you walked into a house or store and smelled something and then instantly recall a long past childhood memory or even a few months past? More times than you care to remember I’m sure. It has happened to me on more than a hundred occasions. This story is about one of those times. Although it is made up for me; There will no doubt be someone who reads this and finds him or herself remembering their past loved ones.

Peter and his wife Sarah have been married for nearly fifty years. They raised four beautiful children; two boys and two girls and in total they now have six grand children which they spoil because they can…

One fine summer day; the sun had been up for over an hour as we made our way to the old shed. We were going fishing. We reached the shed and the old Box Elder trees were giving off that all to familiar Earthy odor. The Lilacs were in full bloom and the air was filled with their sweet scent as well. I drank in the sweet mixture of Earth and Lilacs...

Suddenly I found myself standing in the tall grass waiting for grandpa to get the cane poles down from the rafters. I was only seven and I watched from the doorway as he climbed the ladder and maneuvered the poles, with their strings hanging loose, out of the tangle of cobwebs and down from the rafters. Grandpa then pulled his old tackle box out from under the work bench.

With the cane poles in one hand and the tackle box in his other; we walked back up towards the house. Just then Uncle Tom came rumbling up in the new station wagon and slowed to a stop. He turned off the ignition, jumped out and opened the tailgate. Grandpa set the tackle box down on the tailgate and then started tying the cane poles to the roof with some twine string that he pulled from the back pocket of his bib overalls.

Grandma called out from the back porch; she was carrying a picnic basket. And wrapped in a dish towel was an old brown jug filled with home made lemonade. She called for me to come and give her a hand. I raced to the porch and then she handed me the picnic basket and we headed for the station wagon together. As we approached grandpa met us and took the jug from grandma and then walked us to the station wagon where he set it in the back.

Grandpa watched as I struggled to lift the picnic basket up to the tailgate.

“Lands sake Pa. You best give him a hand,” she spoke softly with a hint of amusement in her voice.

With a deep hearty laugh he picked me up so that I could set it on the tailgate. Now it was time to head out. Grandma gave grandpa a kiss on the cheek and wished us all good luck as she turned and then headed back to the house.

Uncle Tom climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine while I crawled in the front seat beside him. Grandpa climbed in next to me and as soon as the door was shut we were off. Uncle Tom pulled out of the farmyard and onto the dusty dirt road and turned towards the old fishing hole on the inside bend of the old creek. We drove the mile or so and I was giddy as a new born colt.

“What did grandma feed you for breakfast? Jumping beans?” he asked.

“Nooo,” I laughed as Uncle Tom parked the car.

Well now. We were sitting on the creek bank under the shade of an old Elm tree waiting for the fish to bite, when I must have dozed off for a minute or so because I woke up to the tug of a hand on my overalls. I quickly regained my senses and looked around. Grandpa and Uncle Tom were no where in sight.

Nope! I was still standing next to the old shed. That memory of my fishing trip, one of many, was just as vivid as if I were actually there. Triggered, no doubt, by the smell of the old Box Elder trees with their Earthy and strong woodsy odor. Or the Violet and the White Lilacs giving off their sweet perfume as well. My grandson, he was six, was standing there impatiently waiting for me to go in and get the old cane poles down from the rafters and that old tackle box out from under the old work bench. Soon enough I retrieved the fishing gear and then we walked back up to the house. As I was loading the fishing gear into the back of the old station wagon my wife came out onto the back porch with a small cooler filled with sandwiches and an insulated jug filled with lemonade. Our grandson ran up and took the handle of the jug and then he help his grandma carry it down to the station wagon. When they got near I took the lunch cooler from my wife and set it in the back of the old station wagon. I watched as the boy tried to lift the jug up onto the tailgate. I laughed at the memory and then I picked him up so that he could set it down.

Then I gave my wife a kiss on the cheek and she wished us both good luck. She turned and headed back to the house. It was like De Ja Vue all over again as I helped the boy into the front seat and then sat down next to him. I fired up the engine of that old station wagon and after the cloud of smoke cleared and when she was ready I eased her out onto the road and we were off to that old fishing hole.

The End.