The Fishing Trip

Uncle Tom wanted to borrow a shovel to dig for fishworms. My old man agreed and at the same time gave me the high sign to go with uncle to help him dig. ( I knew this was to ensure the shovel would be returned).

I was surprised that Uncle Tom was going fishing since he was not known to be a fisherman at all. At that time,he lived directly across the road from the farm and as we were crossing the road he asked me if I wanted to go along with him and "the kids" tomorrow. The kids were of course my cousins. There were seven of them (six girls and one boy) although two were too small to go. I didn't usually play much with them because they were 'girls', only interested in things like hair do's and make-up etc. They had only recently moved there from town and considered themselves a little more sophisticated than Farmboy. I loved fishing and readily agreed to go.

The plan was to go the next day (Sunday). We were going to walk across country about 1 1/2 miles to the river. Uncle Tom said he would send one of the kids over to get me when they were ready to go.

I was up early because any other time I went fishing, it was always an early morning event. After waiting what seemed to be forever, they were ready just before noon. Uncle would not let me bring my fishing rod or tackle, because, he said, this was going to be a fishing derby with prizes and everyone had to have the same equipment. As we started off, I was mystified because I could not see any evidence of any manner of fishing equipment!

It was a beautiful summer day, although getting quite hot and humid under the blazing sun. The kids were lightly dressed in shorts etc. , some of the girls only wore a bathing suit. I took a ribbing for being dressed in a long sleeved shirt and long pants on such a hot day. ( Having been on fishing trips before, I new about musquitos, deer flies and other denizens of the bush). We started off across the fields towards the river and every one was full of anticipation.

As we neared the bush, uncle told us to watch out for a suitable fishing pole among the young saplings along the edge of the forest and he would cut it down for us with the pocket knife he produced from his pcket. Soon everybody had a pole that was 7 or 8 feet long and very small and limber. Uncle kept most of the kids attention with fish stories and since it was all downhill, especially the last half mile, we were soon at the river. We were told to creep up to the edge quietly to see the fish. The fish were there in the fairly large pool!! To my surprise, uncle produced a spool of fishing line,LARGE hooks, and a package of sinkers from his pockets. He started cuttng up the line in about ten foot pieces which he tied to each pole at the small end. He then started attaching the sinkers and hooks. When I said the hooks were pretty big, he said "to catch big fish you need big hooks". When this job was finished, He started baiting the hooks with the worms we had dug up last night.

Unfortunately, the girls were getting tired of waiting and started squabbling amongst themselves. There was some pushing, yelling and chasing going on which I was sure would scare off the fish.

All of a sudden Uncle let out an ungodly scream and a string of curses that would curdle your blood. Everyone froze in their tracks. By now uncle 's yelling had turned into almost sobbing.
It turned out that one of the girls that was running by, being chased, tripped over the fishing pole he was baiting and caused the large fishhook to pierce the fat part of his thumb! The hook had entered his right thumb so far that the barb had completely disappeared into the flesh. He tried to cut the line, but this only resulted in hurting himself more when the line jerked.

I finally got him to allow me to cut the line. There was nothing left to do but go home to get help.

While he had taken a circular routine on the way down to mostly avoid the steep hill and deep bush, he now started off straight up the steepest bank and through the thickest bush. The girls, espcially the smaller ones could not keep up and were all crying. The insects were having a feast on their bare skin and the heat was almost unbearable. Uncle kept sobbing as he thrashed his way up the hill which was covered with thick underbrush. The kids fell further and further behind and were now spread out over half a mile depending on their size. He paid no attention to them and went as fast as his legs would carry him. I managed to pretty well keep up.

Uncle did not have a car so headed directly to our house for help. He demanded that my old man take him to the doctor. Dad reminded him that it was Sunday and the doctor was probably out fishing himself. In any event old Dr Brown had a reputation for disappearing on his day off. An unanswered telephone call confirmed what we already knew.

After plenty of sucking and whining, uncle agreed to let my old man have a LOOK at the problem! Finally, he agreed to let dad try to remove the hook. I guess dad should have been a doctor or something because he was obviously looking forward to performing the "operation" on his brother. A bottle of peroxide appeared and some pored into a bowl. Uncle was instructed to soak his thumb while the old man looked for something with which to remove the hook. He returned with a pair of heavy duty pliers. After again calming uncle down, he slipped the wire- cutter on the side of the pliers onto the hook just below the loop where the line was tied. With one swift motion, he cut the hook off, leaving a 3/4" shank still protuding out of the thumb. By now uncle was almost dilerious from pain and fear. Before uncle knew what happened, dad had gripped the shank of the hook with the pliers and instead of pulling, he PUSHED the hook forward until it came out the OTHER side of the thumb! Immediately following this torture, dad grasped the barb with the pliers and pulled the rest of the hook right through and out.
Iodine (which stings like hell) completed the procedure.

Everyone survived the fishing trip, although all the girls came down with good doses of poison ivy from running bare legged through a patch of it on the way home. Uncle Tom did not like to be reminded of his fishing prowess and I never heard of him going fishing again.

Next- rainy days

"Time is a great story teller"
Irish Proverb

The Trouble With Suzie

I think she loved me. We had known each other for almost six months and I really liked her too. Suzie was very well built for her age, although she was quite short. Whenever we were together, she talked a blue streak and when she talked, she liked to look you right in the eye. If we were walking, she had a habit of walking a little bit ahead of me so that she could turn partially around and look me in the eye as she told me all kinds of things. The trouble with Suzie was she talked in a language I could not understand! Despite this barrier, I usually knew what was on her mind. One thing I really liked about Suzie was that she was a good listener. Whenever I talked to her, she would stop and cock her head to one side and pay attention even though I don't think she knew my language any better than I did hers. This was very flattering to me. Although she was not allowed, she came to my house whenever she could. She would bang on the door and call out until I or someone else came to the door. If I was home, I would walk her back to her place and she liked to walk so close that sometimes I would trip over her.

I could not help but notice Suzie was starting to really pack on the pounds! Each week she had obviously gained even more. When she reached an astounding weight of about 220 lbs. I heard my father say to mom that Suzie and all of her family were getting too fat!!

That week-end I was allowed to go visit my other big brother for a "vacation". He was out of the army now, married and had a new baby (Jane). Jane was my first niece since my sisters kids were all nephews at that time. After a few days I got homesick for the farm and was taken home.

Much to my surprize and dismay, when I got home I found out that Suzie and her entire family were GONE. They had been "shipped"!!!!

It was not unusual at that time to take the runt of the pig litter to the house where it would be kept in a cardboard box behind the stove for a week or two so it could be fed (with a baby bottle) until it got big enough to return to the barn and it's mother. In most cases, that was the end of the matter, but not with Suzie. She had been kept in the house longer than usual because she was born very small. During this time I guess she "bonded" with me and she never did want to return to the barn. She never mixed in with her siblings and whenever I went to the barn, she would rush over to see me and "talk" to me with her grunts and squeals. It was as if she was saying " get me out of here", and "why are you keeping me in here with these pigs?"
In the summer when the litter was allowed outside in the barnyard, if the gate was left open even for a minute, Suzie would make a mad dash for the house and bang on the door looking for me. She never paid any attention to anyone else!

When they shipped Suzie the old man had her placed on a separate shipping order from the rest of the litter and the order was in my name. After a week or so I received a cheque. The accompaning statement showed deductions for shipping costs, and a fee for the hog marketing board. After these deductions, I got a cheque for $21.57 (for a 223 lb. pig thats about .10c a pound).

I took my cheque and went along with the old man when he went to the bank to deposit his money from the sale of the rest of the litter. This was the first time I actually had a banking transaction and I still remember standing in front of the tellers cage. My eyes just managed to peek over the counter and right into the end of the barrel of the teller's loaded pistol which was laying inside the cage and pointed right at me. Both the old man and the teller wanted me to open an account and deposit my cheque (I guess that was the lesson for that day) but I wanted the cash. I stood my ground and ended up with one new $20 bill and the rest in coins. Idon't know what happened to the $1.57, but I kept the $20 bill in a small box under my mattress until I was 16 when I made an important purchase. This purchase may be the subject of a future blog.

Just last monday, while driving home on the highway, I came upon a tractor trailer full of pigs that were being "shipped". Because of the traffic, I was forced to drive alongside the truck for a while. I could see the frightened pigs looking out of the ventilation slits along the sides of the truck. Even though it was some 60 years later I immediately remembered Suzie and I wondered how we humans can be so cruel to raise an innocent animal until it is in the prime of it's life and then slaughter and EAT it. ( Iguess I am getting senile).

Next-- The fishing trip.

Motto ofAustrian writer Karl Straus
"say what is"