Postcard from Old Virginny

I’ve been hanging out at one of those Corps of Engineers lakes in Virginia. Just peachy. After a grueling time back in ‘Jersey I finished my business, stored my belongings and said goodbye to Mom.  She gamely smiled when cajoled for our last photo together, but she never said a word and I doubt she knew who I was, or at least what was happening. My heart aches.

Catfish hunter

But life goes on and Sis is taking good care of her so that’s the most I can wish for. My future plans are unknown, other than where my next campground lays. I’ve begun one of the projects I’ve put off for years now, and even got up the nerve to bathe and shave BC myself, since I finally replaced those shocks to the tune of $600. Ouch.

I met this kid next door while walking BC. He’d been fishing the day before and I asked if he caught anything. No, just trill, brill, krill…whatever…for bait. "Hang in there," the natural encouragement.

Within ½ hour of returning from our walk, up he comes with his prize catfish.  I ran for my needle-nose pliers (and camera) and watched him attempt to remove the hook; a bit squeamish but interested in his lesson.

He held his fingers over two holes on either side of the catfish’s head, paraylyzing the front fins which contain poisonous (?) barbs. The fish flipped back and forth and I felt sorry for it but I couldn’t help it; I was fascinated.

“I’ve never seen that.  I’m not…(I hesitated)...from here,” was all I could muster. I felt like an alien in a TV series, but it was sufficient.

“I saw you’re from Oregon,” his only response.