Long-line fishing as Life
I’ve sat in the bow of my small, tri-hull fishing boat, running a quarter inch braided nylon line through my hands just about every summer for the last few years. I tend to fight the crinks of age as I hunker down, my face inches from a wet wakeup call, pulling the vessel along behind me, as it were, looking into a midwestern lake’s silty depths. I don’t know why I do it, except perhaps for the thrill of finding a fish twisting on a drop, and the satisfaction of knowing I’ve outsmarted a creature that has been on the earth far longer than myself. The more summers that go by, the longer it takes me to get up after letting the anchor go at the end of a run (softly so as not to shake loose the bait).
Words sometimes run through my head as well–a few have a hook through them, most are empty, but ever so often I can feel myself take the bait–if I’m feeling in sorts I’ll jot down the idea. Some of the musings have made it into a line or two, scattered about as free time, and not so free time, impede on me. Recently I’ve discovered, unbeknownst to me, something changed a few years ago. At first I just thought I had a new perspective on life, what with two kids in the house, a decent job, and enough time to pull my boat back and forth to the lake on the weekend. But the more I think about it, and the more I write about it, and the more I talk to kids I work with about it, I find the it to be frustratingly elusive. I get one of these ideas twisting on my line, and want to express it, but lack the medium to do so, as well as the words. Increasingly I discover I’m not alone in this and that expression of what life is, even to one person, typically has a universal theme we can all share.
Enter the blog–like any good trot line, you need to have something to keep things tight; an anchor. So I present you with a few of my scribblings, and I hope you enjoy them, or perhaps find something familiar to you. I have kept a few journals of poetry since I was in college (an increasingly distant past that is). The catfish, drum, occasional gar, even sometimes a bass will wind up on the end of a line, expressing by action their similiar tastes. We end up in much the same way being more alike than we are different, expressed by the interactions we take for granted everyday.
I am starting at the beginning, I guess, and working backward–I put up a few poems and will be adding to the site as time allows. When I look back at my journals it is easy to see the things all the oldsters have preached as each generation broke upon the one before it–impatience, violence, and the like. I will whittle away at the posting. Thanks for visiting.
Sometime teacher, part-time doodler, and increasingly reflector, I am a southerner transplanted to the midwest. I play a bit online, and have been since 1992. I enjoy the community aspect of the MMORG, and a bit of the site may be devoted to that, though I discovered FPSs in the last few years and have gamed in a number of leagues with an online clan.
I’m also an avid fisherman, hunter, and gardner. Being outside helps balance the hours at the computer, and gives me a little meat to put on the bones of my thoughts.