Fishy memories

Last month the girls and I went to our little local zoo. I think it had been a couple of years since we last were there and it was fun to go back.

As always, one of their favorite places was the koi feeding area. I came prepared with change to buy the fish food and we enjoyed the ensuing feeding frenzy almost as much as the koi.

Two things came to mind while there.

First, I wish I had been more willing to say "yes" back when the kids were all little - they got to feed the fish, but each child only got one handful of food. I've learned a lot about parenting over the course of the past 15 years or so. Thankfully, my oldest two tend to be forgiving!

Secondly, watching the fish go berserk, roiling and tumbling over each other in a veritable orgy of greed, I was transported back to my uncle's ponds nearly 30 or more years ago.

I spent only 6 summers of my youth on my grandmother's farm, but the bulk of my happy memories were formed during those few months each year.

My grandma and I didn't really get along very well and she focused on and openly favored my older sister. Searching for escape, I went outside and discovered the man who probably had the greatest influence on my character and reasoning, along with my dad of course; my Uncle Clarence.

Uncle Clarence was, I think, 14 years older than my dad, making him well into his 60s in the early 1970s. In many ways he was like a grandfather to me. I remember following him around the farm, from tool shed to tractor and pick-up truck to cattle lot. I was so quiet and followed so closely that he often would turn and run into me.

Uncle Clarence was the first adult to treat me as an equal. Although he didn't hesitate to pronounce his own opinions, he opened my mind to question religion, politics, and human behavior. No matter what, Uncle Clarence was on my side.

I remember one year, as my parents prepared to take me back home to New York, I started sobbing and couldn't stop, throwing myself in Uncle Clarence's arms. It was always so very hard to leave!

Uncle Clarence had several man-made ponds that he stocked with fish. I vaguely remember that he ran a fishing business on the side. In the smaller ponds were the starter fish. I presume they stayed there until they were big enough to release into some of the bigger ponds.

Funny, I never asked about that.

And as I write this, I realize how tenuous many of the "facts" of my childhood are in my mind.

The starter fish were given feed on a regular basis and grew to know the sound of my Uncle's footsteps on land as he approached. I'm not sure whether they were crappies, bullheads, walleyes, or what; maybe a mixture of them all.

As he approached, the fish would begin to swim toward the side of the pond until the whole surface was wall-to-wall fish. And mouths.

As cool as this was, it was also kind of creepy to look out on a sea of slimy, writhing fish mouths.

My uncle and my cousin were consummate fishermen, but thankfully they tolerated my squeamishness about the whole business. I did learn to cast (though there was one unfortunate instance when I let go at the wrong moment, sending my cousin's prized new rod straight into the pond) but have never baited a hook or cleaned my catch. Heck, I never even actually touched any of the fish I caught.

Yes, they were mighty tolerant.

I got to participate in farm life as a visitor, savoring the good parts and never quite having to participate in the gross or uncomfortable. But I think the exposure I had to some of the necessities of growing and harvesting food enriched my life. Like watching Uncle Clarence shock a fish, then hang it from it's lower lip (okay, I mean the skin underneath the lower jaw), and skin it. I get the shivers just thinking about it. But I sure did enjoy my Aunt Ruthie's fried catfish.

Boy, it's been years since I've had that catfish.
Years since Uncle Clarence died.

Decades since my childhood summers on the farm.

But the memories of watching my uncle feeding those fish will be with me forever.