Casting for Memories

      The man stood at the riverbank, as he had every spring over the last 60 years. The endless blue above him had not changed at all over all that time. The breeze still gently darted over the water, causing waves to beat steadily against the shore. He pulled off his boots and dipped his feet into the water. A fallen tree served as his bench as he sat, his old bones creaking. He placed his rod next to him, leaning it against the log. He slowly threaded his pole. His thick fingers, gnarled and stiff, knotted the hook. He was taking far longer to tie it than he once had. He remembered when he came to this exact spot with his father, who would have both his and his anxious son’s poles tied in what seemed like seconds.

         The sun was touching the horizon by the time the lines were strung and hook set, but they still remained dry. The man was leaning against his log, staring at the sky. The sparse clouds helped only to remind him of his own loneliness. His wife used to enjoy watching the clouds like this. She had passed away in her sleep, a smile on her lips. His son, who had not been heard from in years, had moved to the city. Now he was alone, with no one to share this special spot.

Finally, the man was ready to fish. Plop. The silence was broken by the sound of his first cast. The bright orange of the bobber gentle rode the surface. He tilted his hat over his eyes, folded his arms behind his head and dozed. This too was part of the tradition, which he called “Go’in Fish’n”. Secure against the log, the pole was safe from being dragged into the water, though it would hardly matter. The fish rarely ever bite…



…The first time he met her, he knew she would be his wife. That night, the barn was filled with laughter, clapping, and music. Her warm smile and flowing dress caught his attention, and something about him caught hers. He was young then, her junior by 3 years, but that didn’t stop her from pulling him out of his seat for a dance. That night, they shared their first kiss, and that was the beginning of a life-long romance.

At 20, the man had built her a house, not even 100 yards from the barn in which they had first met. The man’s father had given him the land as a wedding gift, saying “The land’s good an’ all, but your lady’s the real gift”.

About a year later, their son was born, and was named after his father. The child grew up fast, faster than a father would want. By the time the child was 8, he was helping his father with the fields. The man, who was never one for words, just nodded at his boy with approval. It was time to take the boy fishing.

The sun was setting when they came up from the river, a large string of trout in hand. Both were wearing smiles as broad as the sunset. The woman stood in the doorway, wearing a sun dress. They saw her wave. She filleted and fried their catch in time for dinner, topping a perfect day with a perfect meal…





    A loud splash shattered the silence of his nap, the pole was making a wide arch, dipping towards its assailant. The man jumped up and snatched the rod. He could see the shadow of his adversary swimming just under the surface, at least eight pounds, three feet long, and all muscle. Her powerful tail thrashed against the man’s tugs and his reeling did little to pull her closer. Becoming more desperate, the fish leapt out of the water. The man’s age had drained away his strength and energy, but the fish was wearing out just as fast. The fight lasted another 20 minutes before the fish was worn and beaten. The man hoisted her out of the water and admired his catch. She had given up, her only movement was her silently gasping for air. She had to be old, to grow to that size and weight. She to must have had a mate at one time, and likely even some offspring. She lived this long and fought to the top only to be caught by this man. He let out a deep sigh, pried the hook from the creature's mouth. They seemed to share a moment of understanding and of respect as she was lowered into the water. The fish remained for but a moment, almost as if thanking the man one last time, then pushed against the water, propelling herself into the darkness.

The sun was below the tree line at this time, igniting the horizon like a forest encased in fire. The man, feeling a strange mix of victory and defeat, trudged up the gentle slope to his house, not expecting to see the car in his drive. Cautious but curious, he approached. The car was fairly new and clean; the only dirt on it was from driving the roads to get to this place. It was then that a tall figure in a suit came from inside, his arm wrapped around the waist of woman in a sundress. There was something else strange about this sight, for cradled in the woman’s arms was a sleeping baby. Tears welled in the old man’s eyes. His boy was finally home.