A Fine Mess of Fish

Something from the tackle box:

       Young people take pride in their strength, but the gray hairs of wisdom are even more beautiful.  (Proverbs 20:29 CEV)

     Thanks to all my readers who have conveyed to me how much they enjoyed my last story, Growin' Up.  I thought it was pretty good when I wrote it, and that it might go over well.  One friend in particular, Matt Davis, said that it brought to mind an incident from his own life about a grandson starting to fish with his grandpa.  After he had told me his tale in a few short sentences, I asked if I could expand on it a bit and use it as a story on my blogsite.  Matt graciously gave me his permission, and so that is what I’ve done here.  While Matt was neither the little boy, nor the grandpa, in his telling of the tale, I’ve decided to call the boy, ‘little Matt,’ in my version. I hope that pleases him. 

       Learning to fish up at his grandparent’s cabin on Long Lake was something to look forward to.  Little Matt, along with his Mom, Dad, and two older sisters, had arrived ‘up north’ late in the afternoon, after a long day’s drive up from the middle of the buckeye state.  Nine hours of being belted in the back seat of the Buick, stuck between two pre-teen girls nonetheless, would have been just about intolerable for most five year old boys, and certainly would have been for little Matt, if it wasn’t for the promise of that first fishing adventure awaiting him at the end of the road. 

       Their arrival at the lake sparked a round-robin barrage of hugs and kisses from both Grandma and Grandpa, who were both in the driveway to greet them all before they could get their seat-belts unfastened and the car doors opened.  They all laughed when little Matt informed them that he wanted to go down to the water and start fishing before they’d even gotten their bags out of back of the station wagon. 

       “Let’s all wait until about eight o’clock or so,” said Grandpa, “The fish will be biting again right about then I think.  Anyway, your Grandma has got supper ready to go on the stove, and your folks and sisters probably need an hour to rest up after that long drive north.  Besides, The Laurence Welk Show is on at seven, and I never can catch many fish unless I’ve watched it.”

       Little Matt couldn’t imagine why anyone would need to ‘rest up’ after spending the whole day just sitting there watching the scenery go past the car windows.  But on the other hand, now that he thought about it, he was a bit hungry.  On the phone that morning grandma had promised him tacos for supper when he got there.  Well, thought little Matt, if eight o’clock was soon enough to go fishing for Grandpa, then it was soon enough for him, too!

       The tacos were wonderful, the Laurence Welk show was almost unbearable, and then they did all go fishing, except Grandma, who cooked and ate fish but didn’t fish for fish.  Mom, Dad and the girls took the boat with the motor and headed off to the other end of the lake, out to the spots Mom had liked to fish as a girl.  Grandpa took little Matt out in the rowboat, just a hundred yards or so to the south along the shoreline, right to place where the crocked pine tree bent out over the water, and then straight out into the lake another fifty yards.  There, after swearing little Matt to secrecy, Grandpa dropped the anchor, an old paint can full of concrete attached to the boat by a clothesline.  They were now anchored at what he told Matt was their – secret honey-hole.  This is where little Matt began his education in the basics of bobber-fishing with a cane-pole, and he took to it all like a fish takes to water.  The fishing wasn’t spectacular that evening, but by the time an hour had passed, and they both needed to use the bathroom, he and Grandpa did have ten good-sized sunfish in the basket between the two of them. 

       Little Matt was very interested in that fish-basket.  It was a collapsible wire mesh contraption, with a trap door in the top, and was attached to the boat by its own length of clothesline, just like the anchor.  After unhooking each fish from his or Matt’s line, Grandpa would pull the basket up out of the water and put the new fish into it before lowering it back into the water beside the boat.  Little Matt was fascinated by the way the brightly colored fish placed there would flip and flop in the basket, spraying glistening water drops all over the place.  Each time it was brought up for the addition of a new fish, their display of vigorous acrobatics would become more frenzied.  Little Matt thought that the gyrating fish, dancing in that basket, might just be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.  Once he’d asked Grandpa if he could pull it up himself, just to see them, without a new fish to add to the mess.  Grandpa allowed that they were indeed a pretty sight, and said that he could.  And he did, holding them up against the side of the boat until grandpa informed him that they needed to be let backdown into the water again. 

       “Well, best fishing buddy, we’ve got a fine mess of fish, and I need to pee.  I’m guessing that you do too, by the way you’re starting to fidget around in your end of the boat.  What say we head back in before your folks and sisters come back down the lake and spy out our – secret honey-hole.  Besides, with the sun getting so low now, I’m starting to get a lot colder than I thought I would.  I didn’t bring a warm jacket like your Mom made you wear.  Wish I had.  We better tell grandma to cover her flowerbeds.  I wouldn’t be surprised if we got a late season frost tonight.”

       Little Matt had forgotten that he had his fleece-lined windbreaker on under his life-jacket.  Now that he took notice of how cold the breeze really was getting, he was glad that his Mom had made him wear it.  Between his grandpa having brought the chill in the air and his need to use the bathroom to his attention, Matt noticed that the row back in to the dock took a lot longer than the row out to their – secret honey-hole – had taken.  Once moored to the dock Grandpa didn’t need to tell little Matt to run on in to the cabin and use the bathroom first.  It was getting cold.  And he did need to pee, bad. 

       After he was back in the cottage, and had made himself much more comfortable than he had been on the trip in, grandma sat him down at the table to share in a warm peanut-butter cookie and cup of hot chocolate with her.  That’s where grandpa found them when he came in from getting the boat secured and tackle put away. 

       “Boy, it’s getting chilly out there,” grandpa said, as he hung up his hat and headed towards the bathroom.

       “Weatherman says we’ll likely be getting a hard frost tonight,” said Grandma.

       “Better get your flower beds covered then, sweetheart.”

       “Already done,” she replied.

       When Grandpa was done in the bathroom, which took a lot longer to accomplish than little Matt had taken, he came to the table for his own cookie and cup of coffee.  When the cookie was gone, but the coffee cup still half full, little Matt’s two sisters came in the back door. 

       “Wow, it’s getting cold out there!” said Tess. 

       “Yeah, Dad had to tell Mom that he couldn’t take it any more, and to get us back to the cabin now!” added Bess.

       “Hot water’s on the stove, the cocoa mix is on the counter beside it,” grandma informed them.  “Fix your own.  Fresh cookies are on the sideboard.”

       “You better get your flower beds covered up tonight, grandma.”

       “Already done.” 

       Before the girls even had their cocoa all stirred up, Mom and Dad came in.  “Man, is it getting chilly out there!” said Dad.  “You’d better get your flowers covered up, Ma.”

       Grandma just rolled her eyes. 

       “Did you guys get any fish?” little Matt asked his parents.

       “Not as many as you guys,” replied his mother.  “Man!  You and grandpa did really well tonight!  That’s a fine mess of fish!  Grandpa must have taken you to his – secret honey-hole.”

       “Mom!  It’s a – secret!” broke in Matt.

       “Anyway, We put our four in the fish-basket with yours.  That will give us each at least two fish apiece for lunch tomorrow even if we don’t catch any more in the morning, that is IF it warms up enough to go out again!”

       “Should we bring the fish inside tonight, Grandpa?” asked little Matt.

       “Well, it’s getting late, and I don’t really want to clean a mess of fish out there right now in this cold.  And then, maybe I’d just have to clean another mess of fish tomorrow, if we DO go out again in the morning.  I’d rather do them all at once, and in the daylight.  We’ll just leave the ones we’ve got in the fish-basket hanging off the end of the dock for now, and we’ll see what it’s like in the morning.”

       “Will they be alright, out there in the cold water, overnight like that?”

       Everyone laughed, and Dad said, “I’m pretty sure they’ll be just fine out there until morning, Matt.”

       It did get cold that night.  Cold enough that sleet was tapping on the windows before the children went to bed at ten.  Cold enough that when the adults decided to turn in at eleven-thirty, they had all agreed that they would not wake the kids up in the morning.  They would all sleep-in under warm blankets until the sun was well up, and the thermometer reading a lot more bearable, before making any decisions about what to do with the rest of the day.  It was a good plan of action – but not one that would be strictly kept.  It was about seven in the morning when Grandpa came into the back room where the kids were all soundly sleeping in the bunk beds.

       “Matt.  Wake up.  Wake up.” Grandpa whispered, as he gently prodded Matt’s shoulder.

       “Wha? – Oh – Hi Grandpa.  It’s morning, isn’t it.”

       “Yes it is.  Come out into the kitchen with me.  We need to talk.”

       “Ok, grandpa,” said Matt, groggy, he got up and followed his grandpa into the other room, both in their pajamas.  They sat down at the table. 

       “So, best fishing buddy – would you like to tell me about what you did last night while everyone was else was asleep?”

       “I didn’t do anything,” replied little Matt, sensing trouble in the air.

       “Well – I pretty sure that you did.  And I think that we should talk about it before everyone else gets up for breakfast.  I’m sure that it will all work out much better for everyone that way.”

       Obviously, the jig was up.  The only thing to do was come clean to Grandpa.

       “When I went to bed I couldn’t sleep.  I kept thinking about those poor fish out there in that cold water all night.  I heard you and Mom and Dad saying that we wouldn’t be getting up to go out this morning, and I knew they would be so cold by the time we cleaned and brought them in. – So, after I heard you guys all go to bed, I got up and went down to the dock in my pajamas to check on the fish.”

       “It was awfully cold to go out there in your pajamas.  And you know that you aren’t allowed on the dock without a grown-up with you in the first place,” interrupted Grandpa.

       “I know, but I just kept thinking about those poor cold fish.  So I went down and pulled up the basket, just to see if they were alright.”

       “And they were just fine, weren’t they?” interrupted Grandpa, again.

       “They were flopping around like crazy!  But then it was so cold – and I was getting so cold out there checking on them – and they started to stop flopping out there in the cold – and I couldn’t put them back in that cold, cold water – so I brought the fish-basket inside and set it on the heater in the living room – where it was nice and hot.  That’s all I did!  Then I went right back to bed.”  The truth sounded perfectly reasonable to Matt, as he told it.

       “That’s – just about what I thought had happened – when I woke up and smelled something fishy about ten minutes ago,” said Grandpa, in a calmer tone than you might imagine.  “As you can see – I’ve taken them back outside.  I’m sorry to tell you this – but they did not make it through the night – despite your noble efforts to keep them warm.  -  As you can also see, I have the cabin windows facing the lake all open.  Fish do not smell good when they die and get warm for too long.  Nor are they any good to clean and eat for lunch.  They will have to go in the flowerbeds to feed Grandma’s pansies.  Now – IF we can get the smell out of here, and the windows closed back up before everyone else gets up for breakfast, we’ll just let everyone else think that the family of pesky raccoons living out back had a nice fish dinner on our tab –  except maybe Grandma.  She’ll never buy that story.  Besides, she’s going to find the fish buried in her flowers before long.  Anyway – just between you and me – the fish needed to stay in the water last night.  They really don’t mind the cold as much as you and I do.”

       “Ok, Grandpa.”

       “You can go back to bed now, if you want.”

       “I think I’d rather have a bowl of cereal now – if that’s alright.”

       “Yeah – me too – best fishing buddy.”

Something to take home in your creel: 

       Wisdom is always best imparted in a gentle manner.  Always remember that many wise things, which are patently obvious to the truly adept, may seem downright counterintuitive to the uninitiated, and may remain so until they have been taught otherwise.  That is only natural – and reasonable.