The following post is by guest author Rolland Love. His website, OzarkStories.com includes many more of his writings and an ebook of fishing stories from the Ozarks. You can find all of Rolland’s books at his Amazon store.
I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes when I heard Charlie our Rhode Island Red rooster crow at the break of dawn. The high pitched call of cock-a-doodle-doo filled the warm morning air.
He was a beautiful chicken with dark red feathers; normally a friendly bird unless annoyed when he would became aggressive. I saw him jump onto the back of our big black tomcat one day and ride him across the barnyard like a cowboy riding a bull. I’m not making that up. Every last word is true. I don’t know what Ruffes the cat did to irritate Charlie but it was a serious animal to fowl mistake.
I tossed and turned during the night in a sweat soaked bed and could have used another hour’s sleep, but the big day had arrived and I was too excited for anymore snooze.
It had been over one hundred degrees during the past week and the only relief was when dad hauled our family to the river. I loved the swimming hole. I would lie in the cold spring water that ran from the mouth of a cave and dive off of a limestone bluff into a deep pool.
Generally our group would be Dad and Mom, Uncle Ben, brother Dub and a neighbor kid or two. Oh, our two dogs, a blue tic hound named Willey and Rowdy a mutt would always tag along. All of us would pile into dad’s green 1949 Chevy pickup truck, three up front in the cab and the rest in the back. I know it sounds dangerous but back in the day nobody thought a thing about it and to my knowledge nary a soul ever fell out of the truck bed. Lordy, I loved those days at the river, splashing around, everyone telling stories and laughing a lot.
The sun slowly rising over the tin roof of our two story barn in the feed lot at our farm in the Ozark Mountains looked like the world might be about to catch on fire. The summer heat had dried up almost everything in the garden except for a few tomatoes, some radishes and turnips.
Since the Rural Electrification Administration (REA) had not come to our part of the country yet and brought power, the only other relief from the heat besides the river was when I went to town with Dad to pick up ice for our ice box which was what everybody used to keep food cool before the days of a refrigerator. I would sit for a spell inside the concrete building surrounded by twenty five pound blocks of ice while dad and the ice house keeper, a man named Dan, talked about the weather and fishing and who got born and who had died since our last visit.
There was a big celebration today in our little river town, which is going to be one hundred years old. No doubt the hundred or so county souls that would show up at the town square for potluck would provide a spread of food fit for a king and his court. The side dishes would be potato salad, homemade bread, and corn on the cob, watermelon and my favorite, homemade ice cream. Whoever turned the crank until the batter froze got to lick the paddle and I was always first in line for the job. Our family’s contribution would be the fish, a lot of fish, which we had to catch, help clean and cook for the folks who showed up mid afternoon.
The method for cooking the fish was a cast iron kettle the size of a washtub, half full of pig lard rendered from a hog my grandpa and I butchered last fall. The big black kettle would hang over a blazing fire. The fish, coated with cornmeal, bounced up and down in bubbling hot lard until the pieces of meat turned crispy brown which would take less than ten minutes.
On this day I slipped on my blue denim overalls, too hot for a shirt and no reason for shoes.
“Mornin’ lazy bones,” Mom said as if it were noon already when I walked into the kitchen. “Going to be a big day. Your Dad and Dub have gone to town to get a seine from Bill Thompson. They’ll be back shortly. I hope you fellas get enough fish to feed the hungry crew this afternoon.”
“We need to catch about a hundred fish. That’s what Dad said.”
“This sure looks good, Mom.” I gave her an extra-big smile as I sat down at the table that was covered with a red and white checkered tablecloth.
I survived the spread of food and was happy mom was such a good cook. We raised a big garden and more than once I heard my dad say it was good to live off the land. Crusted brown biscuits were stacked up next to a gray stone crock filled with thick dark gravy. Hard fried eggs with crispy edges shared a white platter with sausage and ham. A tub of butter and a jar of combed honey were in the center of the table, one on each side of a pitcher of milk.
Mom looked at me and smiled. “Your Dad’s bringing Uncle Ben back with him from town and you know what a big eater he is. Go ahead and eat your fill then gather the eggs from the chicken house before you fellas head out fishin’.”
I picked up my fork and loaded my plate with a little bit of everything. After I got my fill I realized I had the big eye so I gave a piece of ham to the tomcat curled up in a chair in the corner of the room. After I got up from the table and walked out the back door Dad pulled into the driveway and we waved. He was one of the most organized people I knew which is why I had confidence we would be able to supply enough fish for the fry … I hoped.
As I headed toward the chicken house, a small wooden building with peeling white paint and a rusted tin roof, both dogs ran up to greet me and I gave them a pat on the head. When I entered the dark enclosure the chickens were clucking and a couple flapped their wings. I had learned my lesson about gathering eggs after grabbing a black snake one morning when I reached into a nest so I always looked carefully before making a move.
When I walked back into the house with my basket of a dozen eggs Dad, Dub and Ben had filled their plates and were in a discussion about the next move on our fishing trip.
Dad looked at me and grinned. “Here’s my plan, Tommy. We’re going to make a couple of passes through two or three different ponds using the seine. You and Dub will pick up all the fish we net and put them in the washtubs in the back of the pickup. Now boys, we don’t want to keep anything under a pound. That means anything shorter than my foot gets tossed back. ”
“Which ponds are you talking about, Dad?” Dub asked as he poked a bite of honey covered biscuit in his mouth.
“Our hay barn pond and Jim’s Stanley’s pond close to his house and the one down by the big ditch line if we need it. I’ve got two fellas lined up to clean fish so I figure from the time we get to the cleaning tables at the fire station, within an hour or so we’ll have a big pile of meat ready for cookin’.”
Chewing a mouth full of food Uncle Ben started to say something and got choked. “Sorry,” he said as he sipped a drink of coffee, then cleared his throat and looked at me. “You best wear shoes, Tommy. No tellin’ what we might sweep out of the pond. Hell I caught a beaver in a net one time and he was mad as a wet hen.” Dub and I laughed and Dad shook his head. Uncle Ben always had a joke to tell and was a quick wit.
“That’s right, Tommy,” Mom said. “Put on your work shoes.” I started to protest but figured it wouldn’t do any good so I headed for the bedroom. Charlie the rooster was still setting outside the window. I watched him for a few second thinking what a good life he had, a barn yard full of hens, all the corn he could eat and a cat to ride.
“Thanks for the great breakfast,” Uncle Ben said as he pushed away from the table. Dad nodded his head giving his approval. When Dub and I smiled at Mom, she walked over and gave each of us a kiss on the cheek and a hug. “Be careful you two boys,” she said. “I need you around a while longer so I don’t have to do all the chores.” Everyone laughed as we headed out the front door.
When we walked to the truck I looked to the east and pointed at a rainbow that had formed after an early morning rain. “That’s a good sign,” Uncle Ben said as he climbed into the cab with dad. Dub and I hopped into the back with the seine, a couple of metal wash tubs big enough to hold a hundred or so flopping fish and a couple of frog gigs used during a float on the Big Springs River the night before. Willey and Rowdy our two dogs ran out of the front yard and jumped into the truck bed with Dub and me and we were all set to have a good time. I started to ask Dub if he knew why a rainbow was a good sign then decided not too because he would probably just make something up.
“I’m excited,” Dub said as dad pulled out of the driveway and headed for the first pond. “When I told Lucy Mae we would be the ones catching all the fish for the feed she was impressed. Not that she said anything but I know she was by the way she grinned.” I knew Dub was sweet on Lucy but this was the first time he had mentioned her name in a fond manor.
When we pulled up to the hay barn pond and unloaded the seine, a red tailed hawk flew from the top of an oak tree and circled overhead. He dropped a bass he was stripping flesh from as he bounced off the limb and everyone laughed when Dub said, “If we don’t get anything we can take that hawk’s fish to town.”
Dad and Uncle Ben carried the rolled up twenty five foot mesh net seine with six foot poles tied to each end about two hundred feet up the bank to where the pond narrowed which was where they would start the sweep and stretched it out on the bank. The lead weights on the bottom were to keep fish from swimming underneath and floats on the top the size of a boy’s fist kept fish from going over the top. Dub and I sat one of the washtubs on the bank by the dam where Dad and Uncle Ben would drag the seine out of the water and the ordeal of catching enough fish to feed the masses was about to begin.
“You ready boy’s,” Dad shouted as he and Uncle Ben stretched the seine tight, lowered it into the water and slowly began to walk toward the dam. “I see fish moving up in front of us,” Dad yelled with a touch of excitement in his voice.
Dad and Uncle Ben were bent forward so the sinkers would touch the bottom and fish could not swim underneath the seine.
“There’s a lot of fish swimming in from of us,” Dad said. “Maybe enough we won’t even need to seine but one of the other ponds.”
“Slow down,” Ben said when a bass that would weigh a couple of pounds jumped over the top of the net. When dad eased off three wooden floats in the center of the seine popped up to the top of the water.
There is a rush of excitement right before a seine is pulled out of the water because things you could only imagine might appear.
“Walk faster,” Dad said as he and Uncle Ben got within twenty five feet of the bank. “Don’t want the fish going around the sides.”
When they dragged the seine up onto the bank it was full of fish, crawdads, hellgrammites, a couple of salamanders, black water bugs, at least fifty keeper sized catfish, crappie, bluegill and largemouth bass a couple that would weighed three or four pounds. There was also a prehistoric looking crusty gray snapping turtle the size of a small basketball that hissed at us then scrambled back into the water.
Dub and I got busy picking up flopping fish and putting them in the tub as we laughed and talked about the big haul and how Dad was right that we were going to have enough fish to feed everybody. Dad and Uncle Ben were lying in the grass resting after what was an exhausting sweep of the pond.
“If we do this well at the pond by Jim’s house we won’t need to make a run to the third one,” Dad said as he got up and walked toward the truck giving Dub and me a pat on the shoulder when he said, “Good job.”
The seining at Jim’s went even better. Not only did we get a lot of fish but most of them were bigger so we had enough for the fish fry without going to a third pond. Headed down the road toward town with the wind blowing through our hair and a tub full of flopping fish, some of which we had to put in the truck bed because we filled the washtubs, we felt like great hunters for helping bring in the catch.
I looked at Dub and smiled. “We might be the two luckiest people on the planet,” I said.
After Dad pulled the pickup into the driveway of the fire station we unloaded the fish. The cleaning crew that Dad had lined up was waiting with pliers to skin the catfish and filet knifes to cut up the others. Dub and I headed for the town square where there were already forty or fifty people and it wasn’t even noon. People were talking and laughing. Kids played on the swings. Old men, who had been around almost as long as the town, were playing checkers and cards. Smoke was rising from the fire under the big black kettle where the fish would be deep fried. There must have been 20 dogs of all sizes chasing balls and fetching sticks, jumping in the air, barking and chasing other dogs. Talk about a good time, it was one of the best.
The celebration of the 100th anniversary of the town went well. People ate so much fish I heard one lady say she thought she might be able to swim. There was talk about loving people who lived in the town for many years but had passed away and invariably what was said about them was they had gone to a better place. By 10:00 pm most people had drifted off to their homes and the dogs were in for the night and all the excitement and wonderful food was a joyful memory of time gone by.
The biggest smile I got out of the day was when I heard Dub ask Lucy if she might like to ride horses down by the river sometime and she said, “Yes.”
When I crawled into bed that night my last thought was how lucky I was to have a wonderful family and live in a place where I could go fishing and be barefoot on almost any given day. Once again Dad was right when he said, “Hillbillies are smarter than you think.”
The history of seining fish http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seine_fishing
Mosaic Crappie by Mike Overmyer, Graphic Artist, Hallmark Cards.
Louise Nett, Award Winning Artist
The End
