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And so far I’ve checked them all off the list- Go me! Driving out to Sweetwater Creek was surprisingly peaceful, not the normal I-20 rush hour traffic I’m accustomed to, hmm, interesting.
      Upon arriving at Sweetwater Creek I learned that I had to pay $5 to park!! $5!! That’s a gallon of gas! $5!?! So not feeling this. Never mind that I’d pay $5 for some pretzel bites later at the mall-that’s beside the point! Then I discover we have to walk 5 miles up hill both ways to get to the designated "fishing spot" -ok, so maybe it was less than a 1/3 of a block, but when you have on strappy sandals and your walking the dirt trail on the side of the road you might as well be climbing Mt. Everest-again, not cool! As we crossed the road that runs atop a section of Sweetwater creek dividing a football field sized fishing pond from the vast span of the rest of the creek I was afforded a view of the most serene water stretching as far as I could see, little flickers of light dancing across the waters surface as the sun peaked thru the trees. Amazing! It’s like talking to God and being able to hear his voice when he responds! Peace being still was cut short by a six year old boy yelling to his friends, “wait up, don’t leave me.” While he ran past me with his fishing pole in hand, line just swinging; hook sailing thru the air like a freakin’ guillotine! Thank God I stopped at Micky D’s for coffee; these kids are making my nerves bad. As we approach the tent set up for sign-in, I notice the volunteers & park rangers are looking at me funny, Good! Maybe they’ll tell me I can’t fish in what I have on & send me home.
      Ms. Pat (I only know her name because she was looking at me so crazy, like she knew me or something so I felt it necessary to introduce myself) gave me a slow once over and a disapproving “you’re gonna wish you didn’t wear those shoes” look, gave me a short form to fill out and pointed me towards “the men over yonder, sittin’ on their butts, over by the two black trucks baby.” to grab our free (the best 4 letter word EVER!) poles and bait. So far nothing was working to get me out of this. Well, whatever, I’ll just sit and watch. They can’t force me to participate. My daughters met up with some of their friends, grabbed their poles and bait and left me.
      Something about this side of the lake being too crowded, they didn’t want other peoples lines tangled up with theirs, this side of the lake has been too heavily fished already so the fish won’t bite over here. Blah, blah, BLAH! Who knew fishing folks could be so saditty?
      My 4 year old son, apparently the only child I have who really loves me, stayed with me and we made our way over to the bank and set up our chairs so we could sit and watch. The scene was pure chaos; kids everywhere, fishing lines tangled up like old Christmas lights, little white tubs full of worms littered the bank and sparked a conversation between some kids about how to eat fried worms. Fun, fun! That’s when a little boy a few feet away started screaming at the top of his lungs that he’d caught something. His excitement was contagious. Before I knew it I was standing on my feet doing a silent cheer that he would win the battle with the fish who was clearly not giving in with out a fight. As the water started to ripple I could see the fish under the water and I felt this rush of excitement for this little boy. The look on his face was a mixture of fear, anticipation and pure joy. His pole was bent like the spine of a hundred year old man and if it hadn’t been for the line snapping I’m certain the pole would have soon enough. As the line snapped and the fish swam away victorious, a loud “Awh” came from the crowd gathered around the boy, myself included. Why did I care? I felt like Lightening McQueen in the movie Cars, I was trapped in hillbilly hell and I was loosing brain cells by the minute! That’s when my son was sucked over to the dark side. He handed me a fishing pole & a wormy friend, as he likes to call them, and asked me to help him fish. Somewhere inside of me my inner fishanista was screaming to get out. She wasn’t ready to thread a worm on a hook yet but she was willing to hold onto it and take it to someone else to bait the hook. My son and I learned how to cast & reel the line in, over & over, because a four year old has absolutely no patience. Let him tell it, something was biting his line and he had to see what it was. We didn’t come out empty handed we caught a small fish and threw it back and dredged our little area of all vegetation; weeds, twigs, etc.
      I sat back and watched the chaos turn to a strange harmony between the thrill of the possibility of catching something, rounds of light hearted trash talking between bank neighbors, and the most wonderful teacher/student connection between my friend Jeanine and a little boy who wanted to fish so badly that he parked himself half way up the bank and started casting over the heads of those standing in front of him. I watched as Jeanine started out by letting this young man know his responsibility to ensure his safety and the safety of those around him. She walked him through the proper way to bait a hook, cast & reel. I was touched seeing the joy and the sense of accomplishment in his eyes. Watching this little boy not only absorb the information Jeanine was giving him so generously and lovingly, but also the attention he received was so needed. The brief interaction will last that little boy and me a lifetime.
      “Give a man a fish; you have fed him for today. Teach a man to fish; and you have fed him for a lifetime”—Author unknown

      Technical mechanics of fishing were not the things that stuck in my mind; the whole experience of fishing is what made a lasting impression on my soul. I come from a family of seven siblings plus six extended family members who often went fishing and on vacations with us.Many of the life principles of teamwork, responsibility, sharing, breaking bread, quality time, happiness, patience, survival, and good ole competition were instilled in me from the good times fishing with family and friends. Starting with teamwork and responsibility, we were all given certain tasks that we were responsible for like loading the bait supply, checking the rods and reels, packing tackle boxes, and preparing lunches. Society now is so clean conscience, I can’t figure out how in the world we washed our hands to eat out there without any wet wipes or sanitizing gel, but man those bologna sandwiches sure were good with my Ozark bar-b-que chips and big K cola topped off with a 10 cent watchamacallit candy bar.
      Some of the most unforgettable times were going seine fishing, also called seining, because it was like a community event. Several men in the community would organize a seining fishing trip to the floodway or # 8 ditches. A seine is a large fishing net that hangs in the water with weights along the bottom edge used to encircle the fish. We would get up at 2:00am so that we could start seining way before sunrise. Sometimes we would have two teams of 6-8 men each all decked out in thigh high wading boots because you literally had to wade in the water to drag the nets along. Everyone had a job to do whether you helped collect the fish from the nets or served as a spotter to lead the way carrying flashlights to look out for snakes, large rocks, and sink holes. I was the only girl, but I was right there with them hanging tough! Of course, I secretly thought that I brought them luck. I remember my dad teaching me that it is important to know how to be a girl even when you are surrounded by men. The men would sing tunes in harmony while dragging the nets: I can hear Bubba crooning ‘Oh Happy Day’ like it was yesterday. I loved it when the nets would be so full of all kinds of fish, turtles, eel, and crawdads.Once we had our fishing bounty for the day we would head home and have a fish cleaning party. My Mom, her sister, and other women would be waiting for our return to help with cleaning and preparing the fish to freeze for the future or later that same evening we would have a big fish fry with all the fixings including homemade cole slaw, hush puppies, and spaghetti. Our back yard or the park across the street from our house would be filled with family, neighbors or visitors breaking bread and listening to cranked up music provided by my brother DJ Kelly B.
      Fishing at Jones Pond, the levee, and the St. Francis River is how I learned some of the more technical aspects of fishing, as well as, patience, enjoying quality time, and the appreciation of the will to survive. There was nothing like baiting up the hook of a rod and reel or cane pole and dropping the line in the water with the anticipation of the first bite or the hopes of getting the first catch of the day. Even if I didn’t catch the first fish, rejoicing for the first catch and seeing the ear to ear grin of the person who did was worth being out there even if we only caught one fish all day. We used the jumbo night crawler worms for bait that my brothers and I would dig up the night before then store them in old recycled Bryan brand chitterling buckets; when we had the money to buy minnows or better yet goldfish it was an extra special day on the water. Watching for the first bobbing of the cork or the bending rod required patience yet allowed time for conversation in a relaxing environment enjoying nature. Jones pond also is my first recollection of the sensation of fight or flight. One day we were not aware that Mr. Jones had started keeping livestock among which was a full grown bull. We were taking a short cut across his fenced area and it just so happened that I was wearing a red shirt that day, the bull came charging after me and I ran for my life. To this day there are still members of my family’s inner circle that call me by the nickname, “Red”, that I earned for outrunning a bull. I guess you could say that I have slapped a bull and lived. I cherish the countless hours that my Mom and Dad invested in me and our family teaching us to fish and appreciate the natural beautiful things that God has put on earth for us to enjoy in this life.
      Reelfoot Lake is one of the greatest examples of God using a tragedy to create a magnificent and bountiful lake. Reelfoot Lake in Tennessee was formed from a New Madrid earthquake in 1811 -1812; the Mississippi River flowed backward to fill the lake which is located about one hour from my home town in the southeastern Missouri Bootheel. It was a “reel” treat when we took a day trip to fish there, because sometimes my brothers had friends that would allow us to fish from their boat. Now one of my greatest passions is driving a boat on a lake, in the bay areas, or at sea; it doesn’t matter as long as I’m on the water.
      Often times I take my family, friends, and colleagues deep sea and backwater fishing or for a leisurely day of boat cruising. They have caught yellow fin tuna, snook, and to my surprise a few tiny hammer- head sharks mainly in the Gulf of Mexico. There are all kinds of technology today fish finders, depth finders, GPS, but nothing replaces the natural instinct that gives you the gut feeling of where you need to go to find the fish. It is that same intuition which drives a knowing within me to have confidence in the decisions I make in life and not to concern myself with if a particular day looks cloudy. The most important thing is to just get out there and enjoy life hook, line and sinker; look for the blessing in the lessons and trust that God will provide.