Our Echo
Title, story type, location, year, person or writer
Add a Post
View Posts
Popular Posts
Hall of Fame


Story ID:3926
Written by:Richard Laurent. Provencher (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:Family Memories
Writers Conference:My Favorite Holiday Story
Location:Truro Nova Scotia Canada
Person:Richard L. Provencher
View Comments (0)   |   Add a Comment Add a Comment   |   Print Print   |     |   Visitors
“WOW. Today is the first day of fishing season. YAHOO.”

“A promise is a promise. Right Dad?”

I jumped up and tried to smack the doorframe. No luck.

“Yup,” he answered. I’m taking you fishing. No matter if there is snow on the ground.”

“Help me find my warm boots?” I asked. Dad did. Then I helped him make peanut butter sandwiches, my favorite.

“Where’s my packsack?” I asked. Dad found it.

“This is how I’m going to catch a fish,” I said, holding my fishing rod. It’s a birthday gift. And I like the blue color.

I swung it around like a whip and smacked the water glass from the kitchen table.

“CRASH! SMASH!” Good thing Dad helped me clean up the bits and pieces.

Mom almost chewed off her fingernails as she roared into the room. First she stared then shook her head. I don’t think this was the time to tell her I liked her new fuzzy slippers.

“Just glad you boys are going fishing soon,” she mumbled.

I knew Dad wasn’t upset either when he ruffled my blond hair.

The sun was peeking over the shed.

We hurry up and load our pickup truck. My fishing rod is too long to fit in the front. So I place it in the back. And I put our packsacks with sandwiches and water right on top.

“OOOPS”. What about our fishing box with those neat lures? Dad didn’t forget and handed me the green tin box. I kept it beside me.

“RUMMM! RUMMM!” I tried to get our truck to go faster.

The gravel road was full of loose stones. And they zipped behind like rocks from a cannon. I couldn’t see where they landed because of the road dust. Then we hit a huge bump.


“My fishing rod!” I watched it bounce from the truck. Dad put on the brakes so hard I almost choked on the dust that soon covered us.

“I saw it fly across that ditch,” I said. Dad climbed down the side of the road. And stepped on some leftover ice.

“Don’t get wet!” Too late, he did.

When Dad came back with my neat gift, it was covered in mud. And a missing chunk from the cork handle made it shorter.

This time I kept my mini fishing rod in my lap. After awhile my tears went away. It’s hard to be a big guy when your birthday gift tries to fly like a crow.

“Are we still going fishing? I asked, looking at my broken present.

“Yes,” Dad said. “My father, your grandfather showed me a different way to fish when no one had fishing rods.”

Before I was sad. Now it was time to be glad. “We’re still going fishing!” I shouted.

After a while, my hat blew out the window. Dad stopped the truck and this time I went along to help him find it. I tried not to notice him talking to himself.

“This time, keep it in your lap,” he growled. “And close your window.” Soon, our RURRRR, RRURR truck motor stopped.

“This is where we begin our hike,” Dad said. The trail was full of icy ditches. Dad said, “Try not to get wet.” But I did.

It was fun jumping on the ice. Except this time, it was like a waterfall splashing all over.

“Now we’re both wet,” I said. Good thing Dad brought an extra pair of pants for me.

Finally we reach the lake. I’m sure we walked half way around the world.

There’s some winter ice left. And some ducks are swimming. The water must be chilly on their feet. Me, I just want to fish.

I watch carefully as dad shows me how my granddad used to fish.

Dad found a rock the size of my right foot. Then he wrapped some fishing line around it. He tied a knot. After that he made a neat pile of line beside his foot. And he tied a good knot holding a silver spinner on the very end.

Just about then I saw a loon, a huge beautiful loon.

Dad had about three feet of line in front of him. And he began to twirl in a circle and sent the line and spinner flying over the water. “SPLASH!” It must have gone a whole mile.

“MY TURN!” I yelled.

“Do you want some help?” Dad asked.

“No,” I said. “I want to do everything myself.”

“Did you watch exactly what I did?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “And I’m going to throw it farther than you!” I laughed loudly. “HA! HA! HA!”

I wrapped my line three times around a rock, the size of Dad’s foot. Then I made a little circle-pile beside my feet. And tied a knot to my special gold spoon.

I knew a huge fish would think it was yummy to bite.

After winding up like a baseball player, my first throw went backwards. It ended up splattered all over a branch. Dad ripped his pants when he climbed the tree to get it down.

“HEH. HEH.” He looked so funny hanging from the branch.

I try again. First, I do one big twirl, then two, then three. And finally let go.

“WOW!” My spoon goes up and up.

The sun makes it shine. A lucky crow gets out of the way. The floppy bird must it’s a plane that goes “WHIRR. WHIRR.”

It goes flying through the air, past a floating log. And over some ducks on the water.

Finally, up and up, and… “OH, OH. I forgot to make a knot when I wrapped the line around my rock!”

Dad just shook his head. And smiled.

“My favorite spinner! I yelled.“

Then Dad and I leaned against a tree and had a good chuckle. I think the fish had a good “YUK-YUK, too.”

* * *

© Richard & Esther Provencher 2008

NOTE: My wife, Esther and I are co-authors on this and other stories. It would be nice to see the above in picture book form if any e-book publisher is interested. Any adult feedback can be sent to: richardprov1@netscape.net. Blessings, from us.