- Jan 2, 2008
- 37
- 10
Cuba Lake was a large fresh water lake and a favorite place for canoeing and row boating - Fishing wasn't allowed because the fish in this lake were old friends of just about everybody who'd been to the lake in many years. When we arrived there were many families enjoying the beautiful Indian summer, flying box kites their fathers had made of balsa wood strips and newspaper soaked in wheat flour paste stretched and dried with so much care. Mothers bustled about the picnic tables in their Sunday raiment like so many multi-colored butterflies ( Gotta give credit for that last description to one of my favorite authors, James Clavell - I've never thought of a term that would better described the scene - One may have thought that Clavell had been there and seen that and mused that that description would fit nicely in one of his novels)
Then, there were the catfish....looking out over the surface of Cuba lake you were taken by the serenity of the scene, the fuzz from late summer weeds floating past your vision occasionally, illuminated by the hazy sun so that they looked like tiny fairies , the half heard keening of a Mourning Dove somewhere in the scrub behind you...and then you'd scatter a crumbled saltine cracker across the surface of the lake and it the quiet lake would begin to furiously boil with an incredible number of large catfish who were all vying for a choice morsel. The size of the fish and their sheer numbers would leave me awestruck regardless of how many times I had witnessed the spectacle. But the most incredible feat, that which defied belief, was performed by Grandpa Percy.
After we had fed the fish a while Percy went to the edge of the park and cut a slender branch from one of the willows which grew profusely around the area. He walked to the edge of the lake and reached in his pocket, retrieving a small wax paper wrapped parcel. Inside was salt pork he had brought from home.
"The Big Guy's favorite" he'd tell us..." Nobody else'll even come near when he comes for his tidbit."
With that he laid the wax paper parcel of pork rind at the edge of the lake and stood there tapping the bank with the willow branch. After a moment a few fathers and children stopped their activities and came to watch what appeared to be an old loon in well-worn work shoes tapping the ground in front of a piece of salt pork oblivious to everything around him.
But after a few minutes there was a movement out in the lake - not furious and violent like the feeding frenzy we had seen before, but more like a ripple that started way out and spread to the shore, as if something had stirred in the depths of the lake. The ripples continued and within a minute or so you could see a vast, dark shape moving into the shallows from the deeper part of the lake.
Even as I watched I doubted the reality of what I was witnessing because out of the edge of the lake, dead in front of Grandpa emerged the head of the biggest catfish I had ever seen...The sight was so amazing that I stood transfixed, doubting my sanity for a moment.
"Afternoon Big Guy....I brought you your favorite, but hold still a minute and let my grandkids get a good look at you - we're both getting on in years, and they may not get up this way to see you again."
And, God as my witness, that fish looked at Grandpa with recognition in his round dark eyes - Don't ask me how I determined that, perhaps it was like the look that a familiar person gives you - just a look, but different than the look you’d get from a stranger. And that fish sat there for what seemed to be an eternity before finally wiggling up onto the bank and taking the chunk of salt pork and retreating into the depths of Cuba Lake.
Grandpa Percy watched the big fish disappear into the dark water, and he looked a little lonely for a minute, then he smoked a Lucky Strike before announcing we'd better start back.
The ride back to the farm was uneventful and when we arrived Mom & Dad were on the porch drinking Iced Tea with Grandma Evelyn.
By then the sun was inching down toward the horizon, dusk gathering, the fireflies were swirling in their delicate ballet, bees foraging in the late summer clover.
Dad asked Grandpa:
"Anything exciting happen on the ride Pop?"
" Nope, nothing unusual"
"Did you remember to take a piece of salt pork?"
"Yup"
"You say hello to him, for me?"
" The kid's turn today - but I could tell he missed you Fran."
© Copyright 2004 Roberto (UN: bobmarsh at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Roberto has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Then, there were the catfish....looking out over the surface of Cuba lake you were taken by the serenity of the scene, the fuzz from late summer weeds floating past your vision occasionally, illuminated by the hazy sun so that they looked like tiny fairies , the half heard keening of a Mourning Dove somewhere in the scrub behind you...and then you'd scatter a crumbled saltine cracker across the surface of the lake and it the quiet lake would begin to furiously boil with an incredible number of large catfish who were all vying for a choice morsel. The size of the fish and their sheer numbers would leave me awestruck regardless of how many times I had witnessed the spectacle. But the most incredible feat, that which defied belief, was performed by Grandpa Percy.
After we had fed the fish a while Percy went to the edge of the park and cut a slender branch from one of the willows which grew profusely around the area. He walked to the edge of the lake and reached in his pocket, retrieving a small wax paper wrapped parcel. Inside was salt pork he had brought from home.
"The Big Guy's favorite" he'd tell us..." Nobody else'll even come near when he comes for his tidbit."
With that he laid the wax paper parcel of pork rind at the edge of the lake and stood there tapping the bank with the willow branch. After a moment a few fathers and children stopped their activities and came to watch what appeared to be an old loon in well-worn work shoes tapping the ground in front of a piece of salt pork oblivious to everything around him.
But after a few minutes there was a movement out in the lake - not furious and violent like the feeding frenzy we had seen before, but more like a ripple that started way out and spread to the shore, as if something had stirred in the depths of the lake. The ripples continued and within a minute or so you could see a vast, dark shape moving into the shallows from the deeper part of the lake.
Even as I watched I doubted the reality of what I was witnessing because out of the edge of the lake, dead in front of Grandpa emerged the head of the biggest catfish I had ever seen...The sight was so amazing that I stood transfixed, doubting my sanity for a moment.
"Afternoon Big Guy....I brought you your favorite, but hold still a minute and let my grandkids get a good look at you - we're both getting on in years, and they may not get up this way to see you again."
And, God as my witness, that fish looked at Grandpa with recognition in his round dark eyes - Don't ask me how I determined that, perhaps it was like the look that a familiar person gives you - just a look, but different than the look you’d get from a stranger. And that fish sat there for what seemed to be an eternity before finally wiggling up onto the bank and taking the chunk of salt pork and retreating into the depths of Cuba Lake.
Grandpa Percy watched the big fish disappear into the dark water, and he looked a little lonely for a minute, then he smoked a Lucky Strike before announcing we'd better start back.
The ride back to the farm was uneventful and when we arrived Mom & Dad were on the porch drinking Iced Tea with Grandma Evelyn.
By then the sun was inching down toward the horizon, dusk gathering, the fireflies were swirling in their delicate ballet, bees foraging in the late summer clover.
Dad asked Grandpa:
"Anything exciting happen on the ride Pop?"
" Nope, nothing unusual"
"Did you remember to take a piece of salt pork?"
"Yup"
"You say hello to him, for me?"
" The kid's turn today - but I could tell he missed you Fran."
© Copyright 2004 Roberto (UN: bobmarsh at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Roberto has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
