No wonder he's still alive

I was walking to church this morning and thinking about things that my dad taught me...especially his sayings. Here's a few:

• "What you eat in private shows up in public."
• "What a wicked web we weave when first we practice to conceive." (Apologies to Sir Walter Scott)
• "Once begun, half done."

But another had to do with fishing. "Your time spent fishing isn't taken away from your time on Earth."

That last saying has to be true...because dad is still here. He certainly spent years fishing...if you count them all up. Going fishing with dad was almost one big fishing story after another. He told about taking mom's brothers Wayne and Harold fishing. Another time he took his brother Edgar fishing and they caught so many fish they hid them in side panels of the door so they wouldn't get stopped by the game warden on the way home. 

Uncle Rich and Grandpa getting ready for fishing in Roundup

Another time he went fishing up by Checkerboard -- about 100 miles west of Roundup -- and he had to soak the wooden spokes on the wheels in linseed oil to keep them from cracking. 

One thing I knew about dad and fishing...the fish didn't stand a chance. When you are as lucky at fishing as him, it's probably not luck. He seemed to have a sense of where the fish were - whether it was a lake, a reservoir, a creek or the muddy Musselshell River. It also didn't seem to matter if he was ice fishing. He always was catching fish. 

But he just wasn't good at fishing. He was also an expert gardener, hunter and rock collector. If dad set his mind to it, he was good at it. He was pretty good at plumbing and fixing cars. 

I hated when he wanted me to be his helper. I lack the skills of being handy. I also wasn't very good at catching fish. I couldn't see well enough to be a hunter. I do like to garden...but that's about as close to learning some of dad's skills as I ever got. 

My brothers are pretty good fishermen, too. I'm not sure why I stunk at it. Maybe because I have no patience. I expect the fish to almost jump out of the water and into my creel. 

However, I do have a lot of fond memories of going fishing with mom and dad. When I was growing up, mom and dad both worked and both had Mondays and Tuesdays off. It seems to me that they would go to Billings one day and the other day they would go fishing. One of their favorite spots was a reservoir near Winnett. I wasn't much for fishing, but I liked to read books while my fishing hook was in the water. And I especially liked cooking hotdogs over a hot fire and eating pork and beans and potato chips. 

I remember that my oldest nephew and niece -- Dave and Karen -- used to come along. Karen would need a nap in the afternoon and Dave would be running up and down the bank throwing stuff into the water. However, he soon took to fishing and became pretty good at it. 

Mom was a pretty good fisherman, too. But again, she was a patient woman. I liked to cast and reel. But staring at a red and white bobber or waiting for my pole to bend over from a fish biting wasn't something that interested me much. Instead, I liked to read adventure novels. 

Still, these are all fond memories. They remind me of something dad wrote in an autograph book that has long been lost...."When the summer sun is setting and from cares your mind is free...and of others you are thinking, won't you sometimes think of me."