I come from a long line of “Gone Fishin”, in the family. Really. We have a fishing parasite along with a strong love of the outside. We embrace a meditative state as we lure our dinner into the fry pan. I have proof of this through generations of photography.
The first photographs are of Sedilla, nicknamed “Dillie”, who is my maternal Great Grandma. She had a habit of outliving her husbands, so her last names were numerous including Oxendine (maiden name), Canniff, McKibben, and then Pyle. She fished wherever she lived, these are pictures of her and her kids fishing in Colorado, Arkansas, Tennessee, and Oklahoma.
What the heck kind of fish is this?
I guess there were no fishing limits back then…
Honestly, I remember Grandma pulling over cause she saw someone fishing. She’d casually ask them what they were using for bait, and ask if they caught anything.
This woman could cook a rock and make it taste delicious.
Fishing is a weekend long event where we would drive up to the mountains, picnic and camp, fish and hike. I loved it. It is probably why I feel so free hiking in the mountains still.