My eyes popped open before 5:00 am, and I lay there thinking of my first husband. Now, I was not thinking of him in a romantic way, but rather as how he lived his life in a way that he wanted. To say he was a rebel would be an understatement, because he did not rebel. He just lived his life the way he wanted to and never bothered with the rules society tried to place around him. My brother introduced me to him in the bar up the street and 3 weeks later we were standing in front of the preacher. To say he swept me off my feet would have been an understatement, but there we were. Of course it all ended up badly, but there were good times and that is what I am thinking this morning.
One of his favorite things was to drive the back roads and just do what came naturally. There was always several guns in the back seat and fishing poles in the trunk. His motto was "Be prepared." I guess he may have been a boy scout at some time! If a pheasant made the mistake of stepping out of the ground cover it was dinner. I spent many hours picking buckshot out of a pheasant breast so I could cook it for supper, or dinner, or breakfast.
And while the pheasants, doves, and rabbits were not my favorite fare it was rather exciting to know that we were breaking the law because not only were they out of season, Duane never procured a hunting license in all the years I knew him. You should know that I participated in the hunt as a spectator. Now don't get me wrong as to the killing of animals. I could rip the head off a chicken, dip it in scalding water, defeather and gut it in seven minutes flat, but a chicken caught with a wire hook and butchered was a way of life. Killing a beautiful pheasant was another story! Survival.
While driving we often came to a creek, river, brook or an unattended farm pond that was stocked with fish. I could fish! A babbling brook was my favorite as it contained Crappie! A creek, lake, pond or river were sure to hold catfish which was my least favorite eating fish. Perch were fun to catch, but very bony. Ah, but the Crappie was a delight! Now it is pronounced with a soft "a" as in awe. They are small and much like a Perch, but a Perch is very boney and fishy tasting. The Crappie is a white meat and very mild. They like running water and a "fly" is the best bait. When they strike the lure it is a thrill like no other. With catfish you have to set very quietly and wait until they are damn good and ready, but while you think you are snagging a Crappie, he is snagging you!
When I married Kenny, we fished out of a boat. In Colorado trout are abundant, so that is what we fished for. Kenny would clean the trout, pack the stomach area with butter and roll it in flour and wrap it in tinfoil. The packet was then placed on the cooling coals of the campfire. Talk about the good life!
Several years back I bought a tackle box, fishing pole and all the stuff to fish with on the river. I never went. I did tie a weight on the end of my line and practiced my cast, but that is as far as it went. Maybe I just got old along the way, but something about setting on a lonely creek bank went from being peaceful and fulfilling to hoping no one comes along and kills me. Old age! I friggin' hate it, but I guess it beats hell out of dying young, which was the option I did not take.
So, the fish I eat now comes in a bag and is labeled as "farm raised". I do not have to gut it, or skin it, or debone it. Just take it out of the package, thaw it out and pop it in the microwave with butter, lemon, and a little dill. Course I have to put my dishes in the dishwasher and then kick back in my recliner and remember the good old days!
Makes me think of that song I have playing in my head. "I'd trade all of my tomorrows for a single yesterday."
Peace.
