Growing up as a child in the 60s, my life was an adventurous journey, as we frequently moved between army bases all around the world. However, my true refuge was my grandparent’s farm in North Todd. Every summer, we’d spend a month or two there, and I eagerly looked forward to my cherished routine.
At least once or twice a week, after my grandma had prepared a hearty supper for everyone and cleaned up the dishes, she and I would embark on our fishing expeditions. Grandma’s fishing poles were simple cane poles, equipped with a string, a float, and a hook. About an hour or so before the sun began to set, we would head out to the smokehouse, grab our poles, and venture to the side of the corn crib, where the soil was always damp and perfect for digging up worms. After securing our bait, we’d grab some milk stools from the barn and head over to the pond.
I would attach the worms to our hooks and watch the floats with anticipation. We always managed to catch fish, but the true joy of these outings was sitting with my grandma and listening to her enchanting stories of days gone by. Unfailingly, the old farm cat would make an appearance during our conversations. It wouldn’t be long before Grandma would ask, “You want me to baptize it?”
She always knew my answer because that was the highlight of my fishing trip so with a big yes, she would lightly toss the cat into the pond about three feet from shore. The sight of the soaking wet feline would send me into fits of laughter, tears streaming down my face. What puzzled us the most, though, was why the cat kept coming back for more, seemingly undeterred by the repeated dunkings it received. We couldn’t help but wonder if it secretly enjoyed the ritual or if it was simply too stubborn to learn its lesson. As a youngster, I just figured it liked taking baths.
Those peaceful evenings spent by the pond with my grandma are among my most treasured childhood memories. As the sun sank below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the calm waters, we’d sit side by side, basking in the simple pleasure of each other’s company. The haunting melody of the Mourning Doves filled the air, adding a sense of nostalgia to those unforgettable summer nights.
With each fishing expedition, I grew closer to my grandma, forging a bond that has lasted a lifetime. Her captivating tales of the past transported me to another era, teaching me about our family’s history and values. Our laughter, echoing across the still pond, created a soundtrack for those precious moments that I hold dear in my heart.
The curious, mischievous farm cat that always found its way to us was both bewildering and endearing, adding a touch of humor to our adventures. The cat became an integral part of our fishing ritual.
As I look back on those idyllic evenings, I am filled with gratitude for the memories we created together. Those moments have shaped the person I am today and taught me to appreciate the beauty and wonder of the world around me. And if there’s a cat heaven, I have no doubt that our beloved, waterlogged companion now sits upon a majestic throne.