One morning in early spring I bolted out of bed with joy in my soul. I was in the neighborhood of 8 years old and school was out for the summer. And it was barefoot time and laying up in the hayfield looking up at the Carolina blue sky under the shadow of the mountains. But on this day I had fishing on my mind. I had eased enough of mama’s sewing thread out of the house to make a three strand line. So up the hill into the woods with my old bar/ow knife with one handle gone and the tip broke off the blade. But it was a genuine Barlow and it was mine. I had to trade 5 good marbles and a beanshooter (slingshot) without the rubber or sling for it. I sharpened it on a granite rock and it was up to the task .I kinda hid the knife from Mama’s watchful eye although I think she knew I had it. I cut me a slender sapling and shaved the bark off of the slender end cause it made it prettier and then I tied the thread to it. Next I took one of Mama’s straight pins and with a pair of pliers I made me a curved fish hook. I tied me a rock on for a sinker and sometimes I used an iron nut for a sinker. Of course rocks were hard to keep on and even three strands of thread wasn’t much in a creek and against hog suckers and horny heads. Next I went up into the woods at the chicken house and dug some worms. They flourished in chicken do-do and were fat and sassy. I usually carried them in a prince Albert tobacco can my uncle Bill left for me or in a coffee tin. Man that grass and dirt felt so good on my bare feet and a little dirt was good for the soul. At least that is how I felt. By summers end I could walk on nails or sharp rocks with no problem. So down the hill to Davis creek and ‘my’ wooden bridge. I didn’t have to get permission or even tell Mama where I was going, tho I’d say she kept an eye out for her baby boy. Back in those wonderful times folk didn’t have to fret and worry about every little thing like they do now.
In Davis Creek up in Hominy Valley under the watchful eye of Mount Pisgah, there lived Hogsuckers, hornyheads, chubs, crayfish, mudpuppies and an occasional trout. Just made for a little boy. The mudpuppies (waterdogs) were large lizards that had teeth and I was told if one bit you it would not let go till it thundered.
Shoot man it might not thunder for weeks so I fooled with them from a distance. I did get one in a tub one time but I never even come close to getting bit. I would sit on that bridge for hours, sometimes with my head hanging over looking for fish, sometimes on my back day dreaming. Boy I loved that old oak bridge.. I had a surefire way to catch fish. I could see them coming up the creek or drifting back down. I would put that worm in their path. And here is my untold secret to success-I would pray…The bigger the fish the harder I prayed. I most often prayed the prayer I heard in Church.Lord you said ask and you shall receive, and I am asking for this fish, cause you are the one who said ask…And you know what?At least 80 percent of the time, it worked..So prayer worked for me in the late 40’s and early 50’s, and it has worked ever since. I remember catching suckers and running up the hill and putting them in a tub and pumping water for them.
We had running water, you had to run and get it… Boy what a way to spend a slow warm summer day… Barefooted and fishing… The water was always cold and I bet I tried to dam it up a thousand times.. I would carry rocks and stack them for hours. The first thunderstorm would wash the dam away of course. Nothing to do but dam it up again.
This little story is about making do with what you had. No use to complain or ask for stuff. Just make do. The first day of freedom, homemade fishing gear, worms in a can, a cold creek, an old homemade oak bridge, A hayfield to run in, my dog Butch, Connie Davis lived near by to play cowboys and Indians with, two sisters to aggravate – boy I had it all.. Mount Pisgah and stories of bears and panthers kept me from going to high up in the woods.. The memory of Mama coming to the back door and calling out “Suppertime”.. And all that water left me allergic to the wash pan on the back porch. Until Mama would say go cut me a switch and don’t get a little one unless you want to go back again…. Boy it would be nice to hear the screen door open and Mama call, “Jack, its suppertime”.. Be blessed with your memories this day, and I hope they are good memories, because they can make sorrow and grief and hard times a whole lot easier to bear…
