It isn't Tucker Time, it's "Fishing Story Time" in the 'cuff this week. Aw, come on, surely you want to hear that fish story mentioned in the last 'cuff. It is a tale of the fish that could(?) win the annual contest in the NW Arkansas Democrat-Gazette that wants stories, true stories, from readers.
The top two winners will receive good prizes as well as having their tales published in the paper's "NWA Outdoors" section, put together by well-known writer Flip Putthoff, who every week has great articles and stories about all types of outdoor activities, such as fishing, hunting, bicycling and even morel searching, etc. Besides, you enjoy his photography ability to capture pictures of the area, including those in the Westside Eagle Observer territory. Even non-fishers enjoy the weekly issue.
So, come on, surely you don't want to miss a scale/tale that has been dancing around in that gray matter for more than 80 years. No comment? Well, here goes ...
It happened a couple of years before the start of World War II. I mention that to assure you, the reader, that every word in this tale has been remembered every year when the crappie begin to spawn. It happened when a mother and her five-year-old brat (?) took a walk in that big shady park in Sulphur Springs. It was almost a weekly event when the weather was right -- that was before climate change when mothers, and their children, still met to share stories ... please now, not gossip ... just to pass along events that had happened. They didn't have email to share them or a party telephone line.
Of course, the dads were out trying to earn a few dollars doing what was needed because of the greatest depression, which began in 1929 and which didn't end until after the war. It was after that war that the good old USA pushed ahead to become the greatest place in the world as we hoped to restore so many millions of other nations to get back on their feet. It was the end of the "Putin" era of that time.
But what about the kids in the park? It was a fun time, of course, to meet boys and girls of your age for a fun time to run around, shout, play games and just have fun! Things have changed a bit but I'd bet a quarter that kids still have their share of simple enjoyable fun when it is away from home. There were pump handles to work up and down to have sulfur-smelling water pour out cold on your hands or just plain water from another pump. Those springs are what gave that town its name. In fact, for many years more than a hundred years ago, bottled sulfur water was shipped throughout the nation. Anyway, to make it short, it was just plain fun, even when the mothers began hollering (make that calling) for kids to "stop doing that" or "quit that, or we're going home."
The tall tale teller, who wasn't that tall, even shorter than today, wandered over to look in a big pond that was filled with water lilies and lots of little fish flopping around. The words, "Stay out of the water" can still be heard from several mothers' mouths some 80 years ago; so, what was a kid to do except stay out of the water and slip a foot or two in when it was safe, and then just look in the water to watch the little fish. The little girls usually found a patch of clover with blossoms and were picking bouquets for their mothers. The memory fades as to how the "I wish I could catch a fish" resulted, finally telling this tall tale. Somehow it seems she had the right things in her purse or pocket to make a little feller happy. Out came some string and a straight pin and something else -- who could guess what? That will never be known, it was to put on (not put-off) on the pin she bent into a hook-like shape, tied to the string and added that tiny bit of ??? bait to finish the creation which she handed to you know who.
Into the water, it dropped, not with a pole, but straight down as the watch began until one fishey worked his way through several little fisheys to grab that bait. It was then a jerk did the impossible. The little fish was pulled to the top and headed toward mother to take charge of the rest of the story. Was it going to be about fish for supper?
The mother then turned into a mama who quietly began to take the little fish off the hook and then began to talk. It was something like this: "I think it's time to go home so you can clean up those pants and shirt." Because you know who had fallen into the shallow water during the excitement of fishing. The result was very visible and she added, "Go find your cap if you can find it."
End of the story? Not quite. After finding the cap, it was not long until we were home and, after cleaning up, I went outside to get some of the backyard dirt on my britches. Soon it was supper time. We still call it supper, but somehow the expectation didn't result.
The words followed, "Where is the fish?" and her words finished the story which I can only faintly remember. "The little fish was too small to bring home and cook; and, besides, its mother was probably looking for him so he jumped out of my hand into the pond and swam away with his mama."
And then she added with a bright smile, "Someday you'll be able to go fishing and catch a big fish or two and we'll all enjoy that."
There was more I just can't remember, but I do remember it was several years later I picked up a fishing pole, had a can of worms and a little piece of cheese, just in case the worms didn't work.
I headed for a fishing hole in the upper end of the lake where the word was out there was a big rainbow trout that had been caught several times but always fell off the hook and he was soon to be mine, all mine. Believe it! I hooked him on the first worm, pulled him to the surface and the sun behind my shoulder shined brightly on his sides as he flipped and flopped trying his best to enjoy another day. End of story? I often picture that huge shining rainbow flipping and flopping. A few minutes later I picked up the gear and headed home. You'll never know but I've never forgotten!
Next time? How about a return to a very important word in our country, in our lives. How about "freedom"? 'Till then, how about going to the following address, nwaonline.com/fishcontest, and send in a fish story so I can look or we can look at your story in the "NWA Outdoors" section of the NWA Democrat-Gazette.
Dodie Evans is the former owner and long-time editor of the Gravette News Herald. Opinions expressed are those of the author.