Fishing At Pops

The farm is always a hit, but it never fails that there's a huge speed bump when we get there. As soon as plans are made, it's "how many more days until we go?" Then the day finally arrives, I can't get us out the door fast enough. The kids are chasing their tails in excitement and I'm packing up all the things (diapers, change of clothes and shoes, supplies, etc). We make the drive, yell at Pops with excitement as he opens the gate, then I park the car and no one moves. There are dogs that we love and will play with but upon arrival they scare my kids into statues. Once they warm up to the dogs, we have to do sunscreen and bug spray and put on farm shoes. Then, when we land after the speed bump, off they go and I can only see the backs of their heads. 

This particular time they were very excited because they were getting a surprise. My dad was more excited to give it to them than they were excited to get it. 

Burl, Fern, and Ridge each got their own fishing poles. When we made plans to go up there, I asked my dad if he could teach us how to fish. I've done it a few times but am still a rookie. Since Indian Boundary, Burl had been begging to go fishing, so we were gearing up for our second camping trip. (More on that later.) My dad offered to buy them their own poles, and for that they were very excited. 

Ridge was very proud of reeling in the bobber. We would cast it for him, hand him the pole, and he would start winding. As soon as the bobber hit the top of the pole, he would smile excitedly and shout, "Yes! Me did it! Woohoo!"

Burl picked up the skill quickly and could cast farther than I could. 

Fern followed directions perfectly when she was told to stand still and hold it. Perfection. 

When we had no hits, I prayed out loud and said, "dear Jesus, give us some fish!" Dad made a joke, then I promise all the bobbers bobbed. Burl caught a fish, which turned into a fiasco only for me with help from no one. Ridge and Lark had turned over the cup of worms on Lark's observation chair (his highchair) and were playing with them. Burl's line got hung and I couldn't unhook the fish while Burl's following me around with his pocket knife open, asking "can I cut it open now?" When we got it all said and done, I handed the fish to Burl and he tossed it into the water. To God be the glory.

It was another good, sweaty time. I was exhausted by the time I got home-how did homestead mamas do it? Now, we all have an interest in fishing. I guess we could say that we are hooked. Thanks, Pops, for more rural education.