I was outside on our deck reading tonight, and then just sitting pondering things of import. As dusk (and the 40 degree and dropping temps) began to usher me inside, the final customer of the day - a male Cardinal - landed in our Dappled Willow Trees right next to me. He chirped his little short high pitched chirp, made a few positional adjustments, and then flew to one of our safflower feeders. He kept on chirping, and it didn't seem like he was eating much, but he was looking in every direction constantly. I didn't see Mrs Cardinal tonight, but they are usually not far from one another.
I watched him at the feeder in the failing light, and it reminded me of sitting still in the fading light when I was young, and about 200 miles farther north...
My mother's parents retired in the 70's, and moved 'up north' to a town called Stanwood, just south of another town called Big Rapids (the only Big Rapids in our great Nation). They bought some property right on the Muskegon River, with a comfortable home on the bluff, cement stairs to get down to the water, a fenced-in back yard with pine trees and a shed, and also the lot across the street, where we played kickball with our cousins.
What I was remembering tonight though, was sitting in grandpa's pontoon boat with a fishing line in the river until late in the evening.,
We would put the weight on the very end of the line, then tie on a worm a foot or so up, and heave it out as far as we could into the river. Grandpa's house was on the steep side, so the water flowed deep and fast just beyond the boat. But once the sinker had found it's spot, and I'd reeled it so that there was just a slight bend in the rod at the tip, there was nothing to do but to sit, watch, and wish.
I would sit comfortably on a lawnchair in the middle of the deck, with my feet up on the yellow plastic covered boat couch, holding the rod as steadily as I could, and just stare at the last eyelet on the end of the rod. If I got a bite, or even if I thought I did, I would try to set the hook. Most of the time, it was just the wind, or the current shaking the rod, and I would have to tighten the slack and wait and stare some more. Every once in a while we would catch some bottom-feeding sucker or maybe even a catfish. But the real fun was in the sitting, the waiting, and the staring.
When dusk would come, and the rod became more difficult to see, sometimes my mind would play tricks on me and I would imagine the tip bending down as if there was something nibbling my worm. Eventually though, it always got too dark to see the rod, and I would have to quit. when either I couldn't see the rod any more, or I was called upstairs by grandma: 'Daaaaaaaa-vidd!'. I hated being done, but I loved the popcorn grandpa popped, and the card game awaiting me.
Thanking God right now for the wonderful times we had as kids, and for the ability to still recall those memories. I am truly blessed.
