Goin' Fishin'
Weezie and I had a nice walk this morning in the fog and mist. The geese were leaving Lake Aldo Leopold in small groups and heading for the stubble of the cornfield for a snack. The picture below is in color not black and white although it's really hard to tell. Just that kind of day.
We're moving in a few weeks so I tried to get some last pictures of our house and the general atmosphere of this community which I'm going to miss very much.
Living in the Midwest encourages you to develop a palate for very subtle coloration. A friend of mine from the Bahamas who arrived here for the first time in the winter thought that some awful plague had killed all the vegetation. On the other hand when I used to travel to Puerto Rico, I had the opposite reaction: everything seemed too gaudy...but not for very long. There are a million shades of brown, russet, taupe, yellow, green that you would never notice if they weren't the main event.
We walk by a couple of small lakes on the property and there in the distance was a man fishing. It reminded me of when my sister and I were small and lived with my grandparents. My grandfather was "retired" from farming but still ran a cornsheller. Summer was the slow season and we lived just south of Minnesota, the "land of 10,000 lakes." Frequently on lazy summer afternoons, Grandpa would take the two of us fishin' with him. We caught bullheads and bluegills mostly, but oh was it fun! He taught us how to put our own worms on the hooks. He took the fish off for us so we wouldn't get cut by the fins. On the way back we would sometimes stop at the Ocheyden drive-in for supper. Their specialty was Broasted Chicken. Yum! (Picture me rubbing my stomach.) I wonder if that drive-in is still there.
I think that those fishing expeditions were probably my first exposure to mindfulness. Take two energetic little girls and set them on the lake bank on a sleepy summer day. Add fishing poles (with bobbins for the girls). I still remember the heat, the sunshine, the smells, how special I felt that Grandpa took us along, learning how to cast out and watch the bobbin, the excitement of pulling in the fish. Ahhh. What could be better!
We're moving in a few weeks so I tried to get some last pictures of our house and the general atmosphere of this community which I'm going to miss very much.
Living in the Midwest encourages you to develop a palate for very subtle coloration. A friend of mine from the Bahamas who arrived here for the first time in the winter thought that some awful plague had killed all the vegetation. On the other hand when I used to travel to Puerto Rico, I had the opposite reaction: everything seemed too gaudy...but not for very long. There are a million shades of brown, russet, taupe, yellow, green that you would never notice if they weren't the main event.
We walk by a couple of small lakes on the property and there in the distance was a man fishing. It reminded me of when my sister and I were small and lived with my grandparents. My grandfather was "retired" from farming but still ran a cornsheller. Summer was the slow season and we lived just south of Minnesota, the "land of 10,000 lakes." Frequently on lazy summer afternoons, Grandpa would take the two of us fishin' with him. We caught bullheads and bluegills mostly, but oh was it fun! He taught us how to put our own worms on the hooks. He took the fish off for us so we wouldn't get cut by the fins. On the way back we would sometimes stop at the Ocheyden drive-in for supper. Their specialty was Broasted Chicken. Yum! (Picture me rubbing my stomach.) I wonder if that drive-in is still there.
I think that those fishing expeditions were probably my first exposure to mindfulness. Take two energetic little girls and set them on the lake bank on a sleepy summer day. Add fishing poles (with bobbins for the girls). I still remember the heat, the sunshine, the smells, how special I felt that Grandpa took us along, learning how to cast out and watch the bobbin, the excitement of pulling in the fish. Ahhh. What could be better!
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