Family Tradition
The ice is off the lake and river, Robins are everywhere, the crocus and grape hyacinths are blooming. I don't even have to look at the calendar. it must be spring. The sun shines warm on my face and the Family Tradition calls me back. I'm going fishing.
I refer to going fishing as a Family Tradition because my dad taught my mom to fish, and it became our family entertainment, When Bob and I married, fishing became our family time together with our children. Later, we even shared this pasttime with our grandchildren. My brother never enjoyed the sport, but his son Joel has been known to catch some fish when they go to Minnesota.
Along time ago, never mind how many years, my dad taught me how to fish. He would patiently bait my hook and teach me to throw out the line. No matter how many times my reel back lashed, he continued to work with me; after all, he was a teacher.
There was one time at a place in Nebraska called Memphis Lake when Daddy and his favorite fishing partner Doc Kuhn took me fishing. The crappie were biting so fast that daddy spent half of his fishing time baiting my hook and taking the fish off. After that experience, it wasn't long and I was required to bait my own hook, take the fish off the hook and I even learned how to clean a fish. It was mom's job to teach me how to cook it!
Favorite Fishing Holes
We fished rivers and lakes around Nebraska including the Blue River Damn west of Milford and the Platte River by Ashland. The lakes were Long Pine, Linoma, the Salt Valley Lakes created in the 1960's for flood control, and, of course, Harlan County Lake.
Long Pine
Today I will take a trip down memory lane to Long Pine and save the rest of the places and stories for later. I loved our vacations to Long Pine located in the north central part of Nebraska. The resort, a far cry from what you picture a resort to be today, had cabins to rent, a trout stream for Dad to wade, and a lake where I could swim and the entire family would fish together in the evening. The cabins were on a hill above the lake. They were rustic with kerosene lights and the indoor plumbing only included running water for dishes and cooking. Outhouses and public shower stalls provided the other necessities. I still hate outhouses!
Dad would spend his day wading the trout stream, I would swim, and Mom would supervise Joe playing in the sand and watch me swim. Joe didn't swim no matter how much I coaxed him. He preferred sitting and playing in the sand on the beach. In the evening the entire family would go down to the lake and fish. It is really fun to catch trout.
I guess this is as good a time as ever to tell the "sandwich" story. Joe managed to escape Mom's supervision and fix his own sandwich for a snack. Mom found him sitting on the cabin porch eating his own concoction of peanut butter, mustard, jelly, and I don't remember what else. And the kitchen area was a disaster.
Long Pine does not cross the generations like my memories of other places will. They blew up the damn, drained the lake and the cabins disappeared. We did stop to see what it was like in 1956 on our way to the Black Hills. Big disappointment!.
