Sunday Afternoons

With dinner eaten and dishes washed and put away, we piled in the car and headed out.  Out to way was at Dad's discretion and we were always surprised.  Sometimes it was a trip to Uncle Owen and Aunt Ruth's (not our aunt or uncle at all, but so close you wouldn't know the difference) or maybe down to Higgins Mill, Pine Mountain, High Falls or over to Jackson Lake.  Just a ride to see what the rest of the world was doing and how it was progressing.  

Most of the time it was pretty boring for me and Sis.  When Sis was bored she wouldn't look out the window so  she always got carsick and she would get in the front with Mom and Dad which left me sitting in the back all alone.  Normally I would just lay down and take a good nap or watch the passing clouds out the back window.  When we weren't bored, we would watch for "Beetles", white horses or make a game out of tag numbers. 

The first two or three numbers on the old old tags were the county of registration.  Sis and I use to try to guess the counties the cars were from.  The killer strip (old highway 41) was the best place to play the tag game as cars from up north travelled this route to get to Florida.  An old two lane blacktop with no passing lanes, old highway 41 claimed more lives than the DOT would like to admit.  It is a shame that interstates are not conducive to Sunday afternoon rides as we would really rack up with the tags on those vehicles.

In the fall, our Sunday afternoon would takes us to the North Georgia mountains for an afternoon of ohing and ahing as we witnessed the spenldor of the colors of the changing leaves.  It seems to have gotten later in the year when this change takes place and doesn't seem as prolific as it once was, but so many of the old hardwoods have been cut out and replaced with pines or hemlocks. 

My Dad was and is a firm believer of Sunday as a day of rest.  On Sunday, we went to church, ate dinner, and rested - period.  There was no work on Sundays, that is until he became a dairy farmer and all that changed. No more Sunday afternoon rides, vacations, or holidays, but those cows provided a decent living for me and my family.  He stood be his guns on non-essential work - burning limbs or leaves, cutting grass and nobody in our little family went shopping on a Sunday even after he became a dairy farmer - that was considered non-essential.

In our hurry scurry world, we sometimes get behind some blasted Sunday afternoon drivers that are not in a hurry at all and I feel a pang of envy.  Wouldn't it be nice just to roll the windows down and drive real slow along some country road and smell the earth, the trees and the animals and not be in a hurry to get anyplace at all.  It is so relaxing and restfull, which is why Dad enjoyed those rides so much.  It was an escape from work, chores, and daily living.  A speck of peace in a hurried world.

Yes, today is a perfect day for such an unhurried ride.  The winds is lightly blowing, the air is fresh after a good nights rain and a peaceful rest is just what we all need.  A time to gather strength, rest our bodies and calm our minds.  

I hope you find a special way to enjoy your Sunday afternoon.  Until next time,

Happy Reading!
Belle 

Fishing With Granddaddy

At least once a week Granddaddy would take me fishing except in the winter. Granddaddy didn't like to get cold. He was such a tall man, but skinny as a rail. I always thought he needed some fat on him to warm him up.

We never fished with a rod and reel. I never knew whether that was because he couldn't afford them or whether he just like a cane pole. He sure had a lot of cane poles though. We never fished from a boat, but we hit every creek and farm pond around. I always wondered how Granddaddy chose where we would be fishing. I realized as I got older it depended on the weather. If it was gong to be a scorcher, we hit the creek bank; mild weather always found us on the pond bank. Usually there are no trees around a farm pond to provide shade until late in the afternoon. Granddaddy liked to leave out mid-morning and fish until mid-afternoon.

In early spring we set the corks for 2-3 feet deep and in the middle of summer the corks were set 4-6 feet to reach the cooler waters. Sometimes it was so hot you couldn't get the corks deep enough. The fish stayed low to keep cool on the real hot days.

His favorite bait was red wigglers and crickets. I preferred meal worms and grubs. We both had about the same luck so it didn't matter which bait we used. Either one was great for catching bream. If we were real lucky Granddaddy would get his hands on some catalpas. They make the best bait in the world for catfish. I know we fished with chicken hearts and livers, too, but the catalpas weren't as messy unless they had been frozen. When Granddaddy froze catalpas, he put some fruit fresh in the water with them and this kept them from turning black. When they were thawed for use, we would turn them inside out with a wood match and place them on the hook. Catfish really liked them this way. Catfish must like yucky stuff, but we sure caught a lot of them on the catalpas. Once in a while a big old bass would hit a catalpa and Granddaddy would get all excited.

Granddaddy tried taking my little sister with us, but that just got on his nerves. It stopped when we were fishing on the creek bank and she started yelling and splashing. Granddaddy and I took off running. She had gotten about 50 feet below us in the woods and was in the water. Granddaddy pulled her out and wanted to know how she got there. She said a big fish pulled her in the water. Well, that didn't fly. Her pole was broken and the line with cork, weight and hook was rapped around a tree limb over our heads. It was time to head for home. The fish were definitely not going to bite now and Granddaddy was plenty perturbed with baby sister.

I have fallen in many a creek and pond, but only after granddaddy said we ought to rap it up. Riding home wet, with the windows down was just about the best feeling in the world.

Many years later, I lived in south Georgia. Granddaddy came to visit and I took him fishing. I had rods and reels, no cane poles and he looked a little disappointed in me. We traveled down to Twin Lakes and out on the pier we went with our folding chairs, crickets, and red wigglers. Granddaddy handled that rod and reel like it was all he had ever fished with, but I knew better. He was just determined I wasn't going to get the best of him. Granddaddy and I always had an unspoken competition going - nothing hurtful, just a fun to keep us focused on our fishing.

All afternoon we fought the bugs and heat. No place in the world has more biting critters than Valdosta and there is nowhere as hot and humid. We fished for a couple of hours and Granddaddy was ready to go. We were going to have find a creek with some shade or leave earlier in the morning. We did catch some fish for supper though it was not a good time.

Yep, can't remember having as much fun and feeling as much at peace as I did fishing with Granddaddy. We didn't talk much, but we liked it that way. Nope, nothing much more peaceful than sitting on a creek bank watching that cork bob along. And nothing more exciting than pulling in the fish. I sure do miss Granddaddy - I wonder if they have creek banks in heaven. I sure hope so.