Friday, October 9, 2009


At the machine shop that my Grandfather owned and where my Dad and several Uncles worked, there was a small lake. Grandpa kept the lake stocked and during the summers, my brothers and I would sometimes head out with Dad on his way to work in the morning for a day of "fishing". There was a bait shop over the hill where we could purchase wax worms and stink cheese. Sometimes there were cousins there too or the other men in the shop would bring their kids. A 2 story boat house and several boats came and went over the years. There were a number of fishing derbies; one which involved Grandpa raffling off a restored Mustang, much to my dismay at the time. Occasionally there would be a catfish fry in the kitchen above the shop. My brother earned the nickname (which made him angry) of the "little boy who falls in the lake" for his several accidental trips into the water, including one through a fishing hole in the ice one winter. My Zebco is probably still in Mom and Dad's basement.
I'm not sure how much fishing actually got done, but lots of fun was had and memories were made, which I kind of think is the point of fishing in the first place.


  1. I love reading these anecdotes coupled with the images . . . which have such cat-itude.

  2. Love the image! lol! Your stories are fun to read, Stacy - they remind me of the 'Little House' books!


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