We are fishing today on my brother’s farm, the farm where I grew up. It is pleasant, shady, and peaceful. When I was a kid, only Sundays were restful. If you didn’t grow up on a farm, you’d have no way of knowing all the work that goes into to making a farm look so idyllic. In the center back the red-roofed barn is prominent. A barn is a wonderland for children. When we were little, the weather was never too bad to play for us to be out. Rain and cold didn’t matter as we scurried to the barn in our coats or rain gear. We were free to climb on the hay as long as we didn’t tear up the bales, our stairsteps to the rafters. The cats and dogs were always happy to join us. My younger sisters even set a bed up over the grain and had camp outs there. I don’t know why we never thought of that.
My brother stocked this pond with catfish. I caught one today that weighed six pounds. It was a job to get him in. I released him, so maybe I’ll have the pleasure of pulling him out another day. I did keep a nice four pounder for Mother. She is a fish-eater, not a fan of catch and release.
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