I saw a commercial the other day that said “the things you remember the most, aren’t things”.
So I just wanted to share a post about a fine man who used to take me fishing when I was just a youngster. He would take me in his old “restored” boat or behind the house I now live in, to the Stones River. I owned a fly rod back then but I only used it when Bream fishing with my Grandfather. He was borderline poor and so we almost always had some kind of equipment failure (he thought black mammy, roofing tar, could fix anything) but looking back now I realize that is what made the trips memorable. I sure do remember every trip we went on. He was a fine man who loved to hunt and fish. The stories of him hunting with my father and I are some of my fondest and funniest memories I have. They are both gone to the big hunting grounds in the sky and for whatever reason I was compelled today to post my appreciation of the values they past on to me. I do my best to pass them on to my children.
Mike