The heat and humidity combine to smell like an afternoon storm brewing from the west, but off they go anyway with their gear and bait to catch a little dinner.
"Where are we going, Dad? I thought we were going to the lake!"
Dad rolls up the windows of the Ford pick-up and turns on the reluctant air conditioner while trying to hold on to his lit Marlborro and the steering wheel at the same time.
"I said we were going fishing like you wanted. I just didn't say where."
The little friend of his from the back (do his parents know where he is?) pipes up.
"Well, the turn-off to the lake was back there! Where are you taking us?"
Dad says, (wiping brow) "We're going fishing!"
After a few miles of silence, except for the blasting Hank Williams, Jr. music---namely "A Country Boy Can Survive"---they swing left into a side road that seems to lead to nowhere.
When Dad finally pulls into a grassy area on the side of the road, all the kids can see is an old shack and small pond, surrounded by trees and the quiet of the middle of that nowhere.
Yet they climb out in foul moods and start pulling their fish poles and store-bought worms from the back of the truck. They follow the fisherman to the shack, where an old man with a beard and fat, sunburned cheeks sits in an old aluminum lawn chair smoking a cigar.
"How ya' doing, folks?"
Dad says, "We're here to catch some fish. Got some kids here who want to bring home supper."
The old man shifts in his chair and smiles, then pulls out an old cigar box.
"Five dollars a piece, and $1 a fish if you want me to clean 'em."
"Sounds fair to me," says Dad. "Boys! Throw in your lines!"
The afternoon kind of drags for awhile as tempers still boil over the missed lake trip, but then they notice how much cooler it is here near the shade in the middle of nowhere, and how cute the ducks and geese are that are waddeling around the pond.
Two busy boys are hooking lines, reeling out, and cutting jokes with each other and even with the old man with the cigar.
The dark clouds pass over and the sun peeks out every now and then while they catch fish after fish--each one a surprise and bigger than the last--according to the fishing liars.
All too soon, the sun bids one last farewell for the day and the air is getting a little cool without a shirt.
"You guys had enough?" asks Dad.
"I got eight, and ....
"How many did you get?"
"Seven, unless you count the ones I let go. Think we have enough to cook for everyone when we get home?"
Dad laughs and says he is sure they can make do, and now they can learn how to clean them because he isn't paying $15 for something they can do themselves.
On the way home, amid all the chatter, Dad hears a soft comment.
"You know, it wasn't real fishing, but we still got some fish."
"Yea, I know! Sort of like shooting fish in a barrel!"
Dad opens his window, lights another cigarette, and watches the sun go down as he makes the long drive home to the tune of a little more Hank, and alot more thanks.
(and thank goodness for good ole Tennessee catfish ponds on a hot day)
