My dad lives surrounded by water. Several ponds, actually. But one of them is enormous. (You can’t see the end of it from one side.) And we call that one the lake. I really don’t know how big a pond has to be to qualify as a lake. But it’s how we tell them apart. (Lake, middle pond, small pond by cabin, smaller pond by barn, etc.) Plus you can water ski on it. So that’s lake-size to me.
Anyway, there’s some mighty fine fishing in those there waters. Once upon 20something years ago, Dad stocked the lake with prize catfish, in addition to the Blue Gill and Bass that already claimed the water. It’s a great place to be if you’re a fish. And an even greater place to be if you’re trying to catch one.
I have always liked fishing. Which makes no sense, really, since I don’t like outside, animals, getting dirty, or worms. But for some reason, I find fishing challenging, addictive, and peaceful.
My kids love it too. They are always eager to get their rods out of the garage as soon as we get here. They can all three now cast by themselves. (A major feet, let me assure you.) And 7 year old can also bait his own hook and also de-hook the caught fish to release again. He is very proud of that. And so am I.
Yesterday was a beautiful day on the farm and we spent the whole afternoon casting and reeling and spashing and fishing.
A great way to end our week.