|
The wipers swish in soft rhythm as my van turns
from north to east, clearing the first light drops of mist from my
windshield. It has been nearly four years since I have been up north,
but countless previous trips with my husband remind me that this last
leg of the trip will take another hour. We had spent innumerable hours
exploring Michigan above her knuckles, an imaginary line on the mitten
that happened to correspond with the birch line, close to the 45th
parallel. We had camped, hiked, hunted mushrooms, bird-watched, photographed
wildflowers, cross-country skied, and fly fished in much of northern
Michigan, and now its moldy and pine-scented aromas tickle my nose
through the cracked window, triggering recollections of prior getaways.
Pleasant memories are jolted momentarily
as I pass a couple with a baby strapped in a car seat. I briefly
dwell on the horrors of that night in the labor room and try to
push the thought away. <<full
article>>
|
 |
Whenever I have a serious problem,
I know where to turn. The Oracle. This wasn't just a serious problem.
This was a crisis, a make or break situation. My budding grandson,
Donny, had the fly fishing bug--big time. In the beginning, I was thrilled
and fell happily to the task of preparing him for a lifetime of joy
and happiness in Mother Nature's bosom. I got him his first rod. We
bought flies together, read books, subscribed to the magazines and
spent countless hours watching videos. He had the fever. Behind the
house, we set up a casting course with paper plates at 10, 20, 25 and
30-foot intervals. The day he put the fly on the 25-foot plate 3 times
out of 10 I took him, together with four other neighborhood pals, to
McDonalds. All you can eat! Then came the moment that I had been subconsciously
dreading, "Grandma", Donny said, "When are we going
to really go fishing? I mean really catch a fish?" Wow. That really
took the wind out of my sails. He lives in a huge metropolitan area;
it's not like we can hop on our bikes and head for the creek or pond.
On top of that, Donny was only 12 and didn't weigh 95
pounds. These were serious limitations in terms of a destination.
I had to come up with something fast and it had to be tailored to our
situation.
Failing that I could lose him on the cusp of the sweetest addiction
known to man or woman. I could lose him to soccer!!! <<full
article>> |