Yesterday evening as I and the Bundles were waiting for our take-out Chinese to be ready, we wandered down to the river behind the restaurant to observe a man fly fishing. There were fish rising behind him, but I didn’t let him know. There are browns in that part of the river, and it’s a perfect place to throw a blue-winged olive. But I had two kids in tow. I don’t think I’ve broken out the fly rod in at least two years. Last year I fished for bluegill with a spin rod, bobber, worms and Bundle I… but it just isn’t the same. One can barely call it fishing.
That night I told Lionel that I needed some alone time. He agreed and took himself and the kids away for the day.
But I didn’t go fishing.
I watered the apples.
I planted sugar pumpkins.
I mowed the orchard, the side field and the backyard.
I moved the chicken coop.
I watered and fed the chickens.
I did a load of dishes.
The fish… they’ll keep rising. Someday I’ll get back to them. The river’s not going anywhere.