It’s been quite a three month process to go from one chapter of my life and quickly pass through two more. Those being the chapters of Traveling and Visiting. I’ve finally found the place that I belong for this next chapter. Hopefully it’s the chapter called Writing.
This is the view from my veranda. It faces east along the Rock River in Wisconsin. There is a dam that gives me the ongoing pleasure of hearing the rushing water any time I open my windows. Its a special luxury for me since my writing inspiration comes from being near the water.
As you can see, the weather here has been very hot and extremely dry. The grass is withered and crunchy under my feet. And the water in the river is only knee to waist deep.
Much to Hunter’s delight, there are a zillion fish to be caught. These Wisconsin fish have been highly trained to jump out of the water every time Hunter goes outside. There was one very sad event though. One evening Hunter was fishing from the bank of the river. He sent out a perfect cast with his fishing pole, far into the middle of the river flow. Then he wedged his pole to stand in between the rocks and he sat down to wait for the action. And action there was! In a mere moment, the pole began to shimmy. Hunter lept to his feet and grabbed the pole from the rocks just as the fish (a carp) latched onto that nightcrawler. There wasn’t much of a fight. The carp had played this game before and took off wildly with that nightcrawler. Unfortunately, Hunter’s grasp on the pole wasn’t a tight as the lips of the fish. That carp left the scene, pole and all. Stunned, Hunter watched as his pole, reel and fish all swam down stream. He turned toward me, his eyes wide with terror and he said, “Mom, he took my pole. Now I can’t fish anymore.” Tears began to fall.
We found our way to the Farm & Fleet store bright and early the next morning. Hunter left there with a new pole, reel and fresh nightcrawlers. It wasn’t long before he was back on the rocky shore of the river trying to catch the carp who absconded with his pole. I watched him standing there determined. His eyes squinting into the morning sun and beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Perserverance my dear son. Never give up on your dreams. Never give up.
As we settled into our box-filled new home that night, Hunter was telling me his fisherman tales. About the salmon who were jumping up the side of the dam, and the big ones that got away. There are no salmon here in the Rock River… but I’m a mom who loves her son dearly… who am I to say what fish he saw today? He believes. And that’s good enough for me.