Heartwarming, I loved this Davey, from the hot wired ignition and the filth of the back seat ride to the stench of the murky creek - actually I'd be lying if I told you I knew what that smelled like but I'm imagining it was much the same as the Goose pond close to where I grew up, people said it was filled with nothing but 100 years of dead pike, that somewhere in there was a pike that measured over 6 foot! It sure did smell like it but more likely it was the amount of goose shit that garnished the edges. We liked the pike story though, everyone did, tried often to fish those 6 foot bones out living or dead with sticks and nets, broken branches, anything we could find. We never found a damn one of them! Of course we didn't but It was the sort of camaraderie that marked and changed an attitude for all of a lifetime. I still know a couple of those friends, they're still there, in the village I grew up in, and they still reel off tales of the stinking Goose pond.
You have a marvellous ability of dredging up from the murky depths of my memory pool, a ton of oddities I would undoubtedly have forgotten were it not for your rich, earthy stories Davey, a thousand - very delayed - thanks.
It is always extra fun to have you along on one of these retold adventures, my friend. So thank you for that, for your attentive eyes and that 'benefit of the doubt heart.'
As for the swamp creek's smell, it was much lovelier than you imagine, I suspect. Swamps are living things. There is movement and flow, and ever so much life. Not at all like a fetid, boggy anaerobic goose shithole. You can smell the life more than you smell the death. Oh sure, there's funk and decay, but it's got shoulders and shadows, and spice, and a belly to it. More low notes than high, but still... alive. Kinda like a cave smells, dark and dank, but more alive than dead. Only different.
Make sense?
Loved your pike tales, very foreboding and deliciously scary. I loved pitting my courage against such things as a kid, determined not to flinch or run... always hoping to be the one who'd stand my ground or set a hook into one of those six foot monsters and 'wrassel' with it till the darkness settled in and my line broke.
I'd have swam in that swamp crick any day over navigating and picking bloated fish from one of our catfish ponds after a big fish kill.
Awww dang, this one really tugged on me. Love it when good human camaraderie shines through. Doesn’t need fancy talk or anything deep, just shared breath and getting hands a little dirty, or fishy, in your case.
I’d love to see these scenes play out on a screen some day. So vivid and amusing. Young David, bouncing around in that backseat, all bright-eyed and eager to please.
David, every time I read your writing, I am in awe at how your words flow so beautifully and how easily you evoke the high and low of experience. Today we went with you on a fishing trip. Another time we watched with you in the field as baby birds were hatched. Could I slow down and observe a trickle of what you see? And then write it? I love words. I am so envious of how well you use them. You must have done something right for god to give you so much ability to express yourself.
I love the descriptions you give for the story as they really give a vivd view for the reader to visualize the events. Also the subtle way of letting people know not to judge too fast. There are good people that are just different from other people that need to be given a chance. Would our world be so much better if only people really lived without such hateful judgement. We are truly all God's people ...
Couldn’t be more vivid and earthy. I could smell that warm mud-plus-rotting-vegetation pong of the swamp. I’ve dragged my share of beady-eyed, patent leather black bullheads from the depths. I think fishing is a great leveler. We’re all hard wired to be hunters, gatherers, and fisherfolk from way the hell back before things like tax brackets and schools divided us against one another. When you sit quietly, aware but not thinking, it’s a meditation. We might not know it or call it that, but it is so. And it doesn’t matter a hill of beans whether you catch something or not, although it’s pretty nice to sit down to a tender fillet dipped in salt, pepper and sweet cornmeal, fried in a little bacon fat. You can wink across the table at your fishing pal, knowing stuff about one another and being present in one never-ending moment that you’d have missed completely if you hadn’t picked up that split cane and muddied your britches on a waterside slice of Zen.
A boon, dear Jude, such a kind and knowing note. Quite obviously you have a sense of it, the embrace of leisure shared, the gift of leaning into things loved and held in common. Your note, the first thing my eyes read this morn. Such a generous treat.
Thanks for the editor's nudge on to, too. It's important to have the proper number of 'o's in a word. So much rides on their careful meanings.
Heartwarming, I loved this Davey, from the hot wired ignition and the filth of the back seat ride to the stench of the murky creek - actually I'd be lying if I told you I knew what that smelled like but I'm imagining it was much the same as the Goose pond close to where I grew up, people said it was filled with nothing but 100 years of dead pike, that somewhere in there was a pike that measured over 6 foot! It sure did smell like it but more likely it was the amount of goose shit that garnished the edges. We liked the pike story though, everyone did, tried often to fish those 6 foot bones out living or dead with sticks and nets, broken branches, anything we could find. We never found a damn one of them! Of course we didn't but It was the sort of camaraderie that marked and changed an attitude for all of a lifetime. I still know a couple of those friends, they're still there, in the village I grew up in, and they still reel off tales of the stinking Goose pond.
You have a marvellous ability of dredging up from the murky depths of my memory pool, a ton of oddities I would undoubtedly have forgotten were it not for your rich, earthy stories Davey, a thousand - very delayed - thanks.
It is always extra fun to have you along on one of these retold adventures, my friend. So thank you for that, for your attentive eyes and that 'benefit of the doubt heart.'
As for the swamp creek's smell, it was much lovelier than you imagine, I suspect. Swamps are living things. There is movement and flow, and ever so much life. Not at all like a fetid, boggy anaerobic goose shithole. You can smell the life more than you smell the death. Oh sure, there's funk and decay, but it's got shoulders and shadows, and spice, and a belly to it. More low notes than high, but still... alive. Kinda like a cave smells, dark and dank, but more alive than dead. Only different.
Make sense?
Loved your pike tales, very foreboding and deliciously scary. I loved pitting my courage against such things as a kid, determined not to flinch or run... always hoping to be the one who'd stand my ground or set a hook into one of those six foot monsters and 'wrassel' with it till the darkness settled in and my line broke.
I'd have swam in that swamp crick any day over navigating and picking bloated fish from one of our catfish ponds after a big fish kill.
Makes perfect sense and I reckon I'd have swam that swamp with you, the catfish pond? I was brave but that brave? I am not so sure....
There is wonder in the ordinary, and in every cast, there is a lesson waiting to be learned. Enjoyed 'crusin' with you.
Thank you, Ann. You've got chops to hop on for a ride-along.
how do i give a gift subscription. susan millmann. 310 433 8166.
Great story - but more than a story - real life. The last paragraph says it all Davey boy.
We don't meet that many mean ones, but remember them when we do. Swamp lines did the trick the other side of better judgement, I guess.
Awww dang, this one really tugged on me. Love it when good human camaraderie shines through. Doesn’t need fancy talk or anything deep, just shared breath and getting hands a little dirty, or fishy, in your case.
I’d love to see these scenes play out on a screen some day. So vivid and amusing. Young David, bouncing around in that backseat, all bright-eyed and eager to please.
What rich and vivid descriptions—so frank, fun and utterly amazing! Loved the wild ride and the turn at the end. Thank you🤗
Now that is a Sunday school lesson or sermon ...that is if we ever found ourselves in need of such a thing you know... Thanks David
David, every time I read your writing, I am in awe at how your words flow so beautifully and how easily you evoke the high and low of experience. Today we went with you on a fishing trip. Another time we watched with you in the field as baby birds were hatched. Could I slow down and observe a trickle of what you see? And then write it? I love words. I am so envious of how well you use them. You must have done something right for god to give you so much ability to express yourself.
I love the descriptions you give for the story as they really give a vivd view for the reader to visualize the events. Also the subtle way of letting people know not to judge too fast. There are good people that are just different from other people that need to be given a chance. Would our world be so much better if only people really lived without such hateful judgement. We are truly all God's people ...
Couldn’t be more vivid and earthy. I could smell that warm mud-plus-rotting-vegetation pong of the swamp. I’ve dragged my share of beady-eyed, patent leather black bullheads from the depths. I think fishing is a great leveler. We’re all hard wired to be hunters, gatherers, and fisherfolk from way the hell back before things like tax brackets and schools divided us against one another. When you sit quietly, aware but not thinking, it’s a meditation. We might not know it or call it that, but it is so. And it doesn’t matter a hill of beans whether you catch something or not, although it’s pretty nice to sit down to a tender fillet dipped in salt, pepper and sweet cornmeal, fried in a little bacon fat. You can wink across the table at your fishing pal, knowing stuff about one another and being present in one never-ending moment that you’d have missed completely if you hadn’t picked up that split cane and muddied your britches on a waterside slice of Zen.
Oh. Btw…too boisterously, not to. Sorry.
A boon, dear Jude, such a kind and knowing note. Quite obviously you have a sense of it, the embrace of leisure shared, the gift of leaning into things loved and held in common. Your note, the first thing my eyes read this morn. Such a generous treat.
Thanks for the editor's nudge on to, too. It's important to have the proper number of 'o's in a word. So much rides on their careful meanings.
“Pity the fool who won’t enlarge his views, cursed, who can’t see the good.”
Seems like that is exactly what we are all called to do.
Thanks for this reminder. Mighty entertaining too because of your brilliant descriptions.
how do i give a gift subscription?
Thank you, Steffany.