Fishing
A long time ago, living with his family
on a farm in Grey County, was a boy named Jimmy. He had light
brown hair and blue eyes that were mischievous more times than
not. Jimmy didn't like his farm chores much, but he did them faithfully.
He loved the horses, but, what Jimmy liked more than anything
else, was fishing.
Across the road and a little ways through
the bush was a trout stream, and every spring and summer, rain
or shine, that is where Jimmy spent the first very-early hour
of each day. He had a homemade pole with just a sinker and safety-pin
hook on a piece of string. There was no shortage of worms for
bait. Jimmy made sure of that!
Family members and nearby neighbours were
amazed and somewhat jealous of the string of fish that Jimmy carried
home each morning. His mother said that nothing tasted as good
for breakfast as a speckled trout. Jimmy whistled as he cleaned
them and when asked how the fishing was that day, his blue eyes
would twinkle and he would tell about the 'big' one that got away.
As Jimmy grew, the fish grew - especially "the one that got
away".
When Jimmy was grown he left the farm,
and moved to the city, but every holiday took Jim back to the
country and the little trout stream. He never lost the knack of
reeling them in, and of course, amusing everyone, afterwards,
about the 'big' one.
I liked to listen as he spun his yarns,
and, I watched his blue eyes twinkling and his mouth trying to
hide that boyish grin that never seemed to get older with age.
I loved Jim. He was my dad. (1901 - 1978) ~ Joan Adams Burchell
~ (copyright)
James Andrew Adams
- taken 1919
"Image
courtesy of www.PicturesNow.com"