I like remembering things I care about and the memories that they contain.

Corned beef and cabbage, warm milk and maple syrup with some nutmeg, a soft boiled egg and pea soup.

Soft memories, sweet to my heart.

 

My dad’s old Pflueger Medalist with no paint on it.

His wooden fly tying materials box with inlays on the cover,

his bamboo rod.

American chop suey and my mothers’ clam chowder and going quahoging as a small boy.

Penn Jigmasters and my first 10 ½ foot casting rod that my dad made for me.

Islands in the bay and Nehi orange soda and peanut butter crackers and waking up on the boat with my dad at the helm in the morning after fishing all night and fishing all day and the next night too.

 

Playing first base in pick up games and horseshoe crabs and mummies and striped bass and my mothers French fries cooked in lard.

Mosquito’s on the porch at night and playing twenty questions every night until bedtime before there were tv’s.

My dad’s model A Ford and stories of landlocked salmon from Moose-look-my-gun-go-tick in Maine.

Home movies of me and my sister dancing in the fifties.

Catching scup and summer flounder on Sunday afternoons and fishing with my Aunt Eddie for scup at Nayatt point and eating her fried chicken and lemon meringue pie.

Home fries and beans and ham steak at Magee’s diner and trout fishing in Abbott Run and light Cahill’s so thick that you breathed them in.

Hunky Clark eating a Hexagena mayfly just to see what they tasted like.

Liverwust sandwiches and White Marlin and the smell of diesel and giant tuna.

Black Jitterbugs at night and my mom’s ham sandwiches and Wallum Lake and a black flatfish with orange spots and trout rising as far as the eye could see.

 

All the people I love.

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