The evening sun felt warm on my back as I slowly paddled the flat bottom boat up the creek. I slipped the paddle in the water as silently as possible with each stroke. We neared our targeted fishing area, a fifty-yard stretch of two to four foot deep water where the bottom was littered with light colored, plate sized depressions. I had waited for this time for some months, the time when the bream were bedding and the fishing action could be fast and furious. I was rigged with a light wire hook, no sinker, light line, and a light action spinning rig. My companion was using a light spin casting rig, and we had a bucket full of worms. We were ready for action. "Mother, cast towards that rock and hold on!" I said softly to my fishing companion. The worm sailed across the warm evening air, hit the water with a soft plop and instantly the slack was pulled from the line as a chunky bluegill made a mad dash for the weed bed. My mother set the hook and laughed delightfully as the bluegill ran small circles in the water as she fought it to the boat. "Oh, look at him! He is soooo pretty!" my mother said as she lifted the shimmering, glistening fish from the water. The black back, golden sides, and deep purple breast of the big male bluegill made one impressive sight. I quickly put it on the stringer while Mom rebaited her hook and made another cast. Again, the worm was inhaled by an unseen assailant as soon as it landed softly on the water. This time an oversized redear sunfish ran frantic circles in the water at the edge of the old flat bottom aluminum. As with the bluegill, the beautiful, radiant colors of the brilliant sunfish did not go unnoticed by the joyful angler.
As I watched my mother catching one fish right after another, with me catching an occasional fish myself to go on the ever-growing stringer, my emotions were deeply stirred by thoughts of my mother's life. She was a true pioneer, surviving some of the worst times that Americans have ever had to face. Her family was poor hill country folks like most families in the Ozarks during the Depression. Her father made the trek from Oklahoma to Arkansas in a covered wagon in 1905 and made his stand in the hills, working many long hours to support his young, growing family. The boys went off to war and the girls helped raise the cows, slop the hogs, chop fire wood, cook on an old wood stove, carry water from the creek, read by a kerosene lamp, and go to church on Sunday. Growing up in this environment, my mother could take care of a whole flock of kids, or drive a log truck, whatever was necessary to get the job done.
After marrying my daddy, Mother suffered heartbreak by losing two of four children. My older sister Jan Garner Howard and I managed to survive, even though I was born a "blue baby". I recall my folks struggling to make ends meet, even though they both worked almost day and night. Then, at the age of 48, my daddy has a massive heart attack. Unlike most men his age that have severe heart attacks, my Dad survived. Now my mother's life was dedicated to helping him recover. Even after facing lots of heartaches and tragedy, my mother's faith kept her on an even keep. Today, she was having a wonderful time doing one of the things that she liked the best...catching fish. Before the evening was over, we had more than fifty big bluegill, sunfish, hybrid bream, shell crackers, and warmouths on the stringer. I grunted under the strain of lifting the hefty stringer from the water and knew the fun had only begun. All of these fish had to be cleaned before being transformed in to several wonderful meals that included fried fish, hot corn bread, hush puppies, fried potatoes, fresh sliced tomatoes, white onion slabs, and sweet tea. I spared Mom the task of fish cleaning, as it was time for her to get supper on the stove after we got in.
My mother is special to me, and I strongly believe that I have the best mother in the whole world. Today, she does not move as fast as she used to. Two knee replacement surgeries have slowed her down somewhat, but they have not dampened her spirit nor her zeal for life. She still loves to fish as much as ever and we are again headed for that time of year when you can catch so many fish that it will make your arm hurt. This is the only pain I have ever wanted to inflict on my mother and I have plans of doing it again in the immediate future. I love you Mother. Thank you and God Bless you for all you have done.
