Summer at my parents’ house during their retirement years meant one thing: fishing! They would load up their fifth wheel and head to the Canadian campgrounds at Canton Lake. My boys loved spending time at the lake with PaPa and Granny. It was a time for fishing, feeding squirrels, and plenty of exploring. My parents would volunteer to clean up limbs and paint the facilities. After their volunteer work was done, it was time to fish.
My dad fished for crappie and seemed to know exactly where to find them in the lake. He also ran jug lines, and there are stories my brothers will tell you about not wanting to mess with his jug lines. There are tales we still laugh about, but I probably shouldn’t share all of them! If you were at the Canadian campgrounds, you could often hear my dad, his sidekick Bob, and the camp’s mascot, Floppy the basset hound, who was smarter than most humans, coming across the lake.
Floppy had his place in the front of the boat, ears flying back in the wind, barking and sounding the alarm as they approached the shore. Floppy was louder than any foghorn and even had his own life jacket, which Bob complained cost more than any human’s! Floppy ruled the camp; when he barked, humans listened and obeyed his commands.
I have plenty of Floppy stories, but today we’re focusing on fishing. My parents had a small box freezer they kept in the pickup bed. When it was full of crappie, they would drive home to transfer the fish to the big freezer, ensuring nothing went to waste. Daddy donated fish to various groups holding fish fries, and we always had our share to eat.
One notable fish fry my parents hosted had Mom going around the neighborhood inviting everyone to come share the fish. Not only did she have fish thawing out in her bathtub, but she also recruited some neighbors’ bathtubs for the same purpose. We counted 250 people at one time in their front yard, despite a misty rain falling. Everybody lined up under the eaves of my parents’ house, enjoying every bite. I remember my fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Fulmer, had her spot in the garage, watching the controlled chaos of cooking unfold.
Mom even had me take a plate to our friend Clayton, who strolled down the street pushing his lawnmower. She bagged up some fried fish for him to take home. Tragically, we lost Clayton a couple of weeks later in a car accident. I guess that was the last time our family saw him, and it will forever stay in my memory.
The memories of my dad fishing and the stories told are part of his legacy. One cold day in early March, Daddy was at the lake fishing with his friend Don. He decided it was time to check the prop, but when he did, he fell into the lake. Don was a bit nervous, not knowing whether to jump in after Daddy or scream for help. As Don stood there in shock, debating what to do, my dad’s head bobbed up. He climbed back into the boat and changed into some dry clothes he kept on board. Then he simply kept on fishing!
When my dad passed away, it was time to decide what to put on his headstone. My mom requested a crappie fish, but the representative suggested that a bass would look better. In a determined voice, my sweet mom insisted, “He didn’t fish for bass; he fished for crappie!” I’m sure my parents’ headstone is the only one in the cemetery with a crappie fish on it.
My older brother inherited my dad’s fishing boat. It was restored, likely spending more money than it was worth, but you can’t put a price on the memories that were made in that boat and the new memories that are continuing to be made with family. As a side note, I had to call my brother to verify a couple of stories I wanted to add, and we both agreed that even though most of the characters in them have passed, it hasn’t been long enough for us to write about it yet! But we had some laughs walking down memory lane. I’m just glad that boat can’t take those memories away!
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