I consider waters to be sacred places, places where life is sourced, where life thrives. On our recent road trip, we drove along the mighty Mississippi river. Besides being sacred, whenever I see a body of water, I have a strong desire to fish. Fishing is a deep memory from my youth through my adult life. It’s a sacred memory elevated by the infusion of fishing with family over the decades, my brothers, my sisters, my kids, but mostly my dad. It was something we did together. Going on ‘The’ fishing trip to Canada with the men was a right of passage signaling a transition into manhood. Fishing has never been the same since he died.
My wife said I should stop and fish during our trip but, she doesn’t understand fishing from my perspective. I can’t fish for an hour and head on. I needed a couple of days to spare, to reconnect. I would have bought a license and spent time with my rod in the water listening to the aquatic sounds while trying to outsmart a fish. Mostly, I would have needed time for my thoughts to reverse travel memory’s river taking me back over decades of fishing to the headwaters to one of my earliest memories, to the time in PauPau Michigan when I caught my first fish, a bluegill that swallowed the hook and I was simultaneously hooked on fishing.