FISH FOR BREAKFAST


The house had finally quieted down for the night. Mom and Dad were in bed and I was settling down for a long night of studying for finals. I was in my first year of college and carrying a heavy load of subjects. My finals were all due in the next week and a half. It was nice to have the place to myself, very comfortable.
The phone rang.
There may be some times in your life when you are precogniscient, but I really don't believe this was one of them. I knew that my Grandfather has been in the hospital for some time so it came as no surprise to me that my Uncle Fred asked me to get up my father
The information was as expected. My grandfather had passed away in his sleep shortly before.
Grandfather Warren was the Patriarch of our family. He held the family together through many crises. He had always been the strong point in the family. When it came to vacations there was no question where we were going. We always went to the farm.
The farm to me was always a kind of sanctuary from the insanity of the city.
Grandfather and Fred had taught me the meaning of tracks in the dirt-what animal had passed there and why. There are very distinct signs that a person can recognize. They also taught me which bushes yield fruit and which were poison.
I respected my Grandfather more than anyone I knew, but my family knew I had to take my finals, so I was not expected at his funeral.
The last final I had to take was my Botany final. I had talked with my Professor many times and explained that my knowledge of plants came largely from my Grandfathers teaching, I think that the Professor really appreciated my stories, because he allowed me to take an early exam.
The Family was surprised to see me, because they knew I had finals. Although it was a solemn occasion, there was a certain feeling of celebration in the fact that elements of the family had come together that had not seen each other for some time.
It was the first time in a long time I had seen a lot of my cousins from Utah. Although we had been close in early life, we had lost contact when they had moved away from the Pacific Northwest. I had sorely missed my friends in the family, and it was a real pleasure to see them again.
Among the family contingent was a lady I had never met. It was my Grandfathers sister, Aunt Reena.
My Grandfathers sister was a Sisters of Charity of Cincinnati Nun. You know-Penguin- full habit Wimple-Rosaries. If you went through the Catholic school system you grew up in fear of the Penguins.
From the first I sensed that this was a different situation.
When we broke out the beer, she actually said she would have a small taste!!
Because I was very astonished that a Nun would actually consume an alcoholic beverage, I watched as she slowly and with great precision consumed several. They were always one very small glass at a time, but over a long evening of story telling, they must have added up.







Towards the end of the evening it came time to tell the fishing stories.
While no one will actually admit that the stories may get slightly larger than life with the retelling, it must be admitted that if all of those fish actually lived in that stream, it must have been one of the most prolific stream that ever existed in the history of modern Trout fishery.
Someone asked Aunt Reena "How do you like your fish?"
She replied : "I don't like fish very much."
This was construed as an insult to Trout fishermen everywhere.
"Have you had high country trout, fresh from the stream, fixed for breakfast?" she was asked.
She said "I've had a lot of catfish and Pike, but no high country trout, but a fish is a fish and I don"t see how one could be any different than another."
Since it was early spring it would be a challenge to get a meal of trout with the water very high and dirty, but I was given the challenge. I thought I knew every piece of fishable water within several miles of the home place, so I found myself out early the next morning getting the bait before the cows were milked.
There was always a place below the loading chute that was good for worms in the spring, so I started there followed by the ramp by the chicken coup. By 6:00 I had the beginnings. Since the streams were high, the only way to fish at this time of year was at the feeder streams. We had one of the premier Brook Trout hatcheries in the country running through our property. Never big fish-just lots of them.
So I was dispatched with a pole and worms.
Brook Trout are not large. They seem to center about 8",which is fine with me because they are most tasty at about that size.
I went out to catch a morning’s supply of fish for Aunt Reena.
In reality the fishing was very good. As soon as I hit the stream I caught fish. They were exactly what I expected. Small Brookies suitable for the breakfast pan.
As I was fishing I kept hearing noises in the bushes behind me. I would move and then the sound would move. I would catch a fish, gut it and move, and then the sound would follow.
The stream made an oxbow, and I figured I would be able to see what was following me, so I stopped to see. As I rounded the bend I saw a skunk following me. He was following the train of fish guts that I had laid down. I didn't have enough food for breakfast, so we had to make a partnership. I didn't want to interfere with a skunk in the pursuit of his business, and he didn't want to interfere with my catching his breakfast.
We followed each other for several turns of the creek. He would not come close to me, but I would not challenge him. We went through several turns of the creek, until I had enough fish for Aunt Reena for breakfast.
Aunt Reena said that she had not seen her brother in almost 50 years, but that she could see that he was loved and a special person. No matter how there lives had grown apart, that she knew how much her brother's family had loved him.
When she got up in the morning she asked
"What's for breakfast, fish?"