A Story by Jeffrey Freeman
The cool river water swirled around the canoes nose. creating a furrowed vee as me and Daddy made our way down the river. The crisp evening air hovered above the waters as the day’s final rays of sunlight pushed their way through the mountainside laurels and saplings and onto the river. Only weeks away, the freshness of fall was already creeping its way into the air.
“Boy, what an evening,” Dad said, as he fastened another button on his windbreaker and brought his paddle up and laid it across his lap. “This is what life is all about – man can’t ask for any better’n this.”
“Yeah, it sure is nice during this time of the day,” I replied. “Can’t think of anyplace else I’d rather be.”
“Hear them birds and crickets” Boy – Sure is a peaceful sound, isn’t it?” he said, as he scanned the mountainside and took in the moment.
The old canoe glided forward, rocking gently as the soft winds caressed its sides. Up in the distance protruding from the waters like an over-sized baseball plate, I could see the small island where we would make camp for the night.
“Well, we’re ’bout there,” said Dad as he lowered his paddle into the water and began guiding the nose towards the weedy and cattail covered banks of the island’s southern point. “Go ahead and pull that tube around and get our cooler out of it,” Dad directed, as he handed me the rope it attached to.
I steadied myself and slowly reeled it to the side of the canoe and pulled the cooler from its inner sides, the canoe now swaying with every motion I made. I sat it near the middle of the canoe where our fishing rods and camping gear lay, making the canoe quarters even more cramped.
“Get ready and pull us ashore.” said Dad, as he slid his paddle down on the floor and grasped each side of the canoe. “Watch your step there or you’ll wind up in the river, boy. May get kinda cold later on tonight with wet clothes on.”
I grabbed a hold of the docking rope and stepped upon the canoe’s nose and leaped onto the island’s bank, the canoe stopping dead from the push-off I’d made. Two quail flew from amongst the underbrush as I climbed the bank and pulled the canoe upon the bank’s edge. Dad’s hands were still clutched to its sides.
“Well, son, go ahead and grab that cooler and backpack there. I’m going to get them rods there and put them into some water. Might catch us some catfish or crappies to fry later on.” said Dad, as he half-stood and laddered up the canoe’s side.
“I’ll set that tent up and get us a little fire going,” I said offhandedly, as we both made our way up the bank’s incline to the grassy knoll where we’d snake camp for the night.
I put up our small Coleman tent and gathered some driftwood from around the banks of the island. The sun had now settled below the earth as the frogs and crickets were chirping and cutting up with renewed vigor. It was such a melodious sound. I just stopped for a few minutes and closed my eyes and took in the moment. It sounded so peaceful. Down below us a formation of geese chirped back and forth as they made their way down the river.
I had the fire going pretty good when Daddy came walking up, a fish stringer looped around his hand with two nice-sized fish dangling from it.
“Got us a couple of nice ones, boy,” said Dad with a grin on his face. “A trout and a cat. Boy. they’re taking a hold of them hooks today.”
I smiled and stood up and checked them out. Both were pretty good sized and still wet and gleaming with water. Dad skinned the catfish while I commenced to scale the trout. We had them caked with cornmeal and flour and in a frying pan coated with Wesson oil in no time.
“Boy, bust that cooler open and get us one of those Country Clubs,” said Dad, as he flipped and stirred those cubes of fish flesh around with an old wooden spoon.
“What.” I said, and turned to meet Dad’s eyes.
“Go ahead, boy you old enough now where a few of ’em won’t hurt’ cha.”
“Reckon not,” I chuckled, as I lifted the lid and grabbed two cans and handed dad one.
The fire was now hissing and popping and burning hot and high with ember sparks shooting straight up piercing the dusky sky as me and dad ate small chunks of trout and catfish and drank long swallows of Country Club. A night to remember, I thought. I just made my place there and watched the fire as it lit up the night around us.
“So when you and that girl getting married you been together for awhile now, ain’t you?”
“I don’t know, Dad.” I said, as I took a big gulp of Country Club. “Marriage is so dad-blame hard nowadays. Hard for anyone to hold on to a wife.”
“Yeah – it sure is, boy, you can say that again. Your mom and me have sure had our times over the years, but we always managed to make it work somehow or ‘nother. Course things are a lot different now from when we got married. Husbands and wives feud over anything nowadays- money most of the time… lack of time together, another thing.” He paused and brought the beer to his lips and scooted closer to the fire. “Back when me and your mom got married women were more loyal – they stuck by you and took their marriage vows seriously. “They’re not like that today with all the changes in our world. Women nowadays are pressed for independence.”
“So why’s it like that.” I said, as I downed the last remains of the Country club.
“Can’t understand a lot of it, son. I guess that’s the way it is. Man has to do the best he can, make it work someway or ‘nother.”
I just sat there in silence, nodding my head as I poked at the coals, smoke and sparks of ember sailing through the air. Somewhere off in the holler an owl gave off a “hoot” to punctuate the night while the darkness closed in to envelop the island.
“Just remember son – marriage is a fifty-fifty thing, but nowadays a man has to give a hundred percent a hundred ‘cent of the time or it won’t work. That’s just the way it is.
He paused and stretched his legs out alongside the fire.
“Hard work for a man nowadays to keep that fire of love kindled.” he continued, his words trailing off and fading as bullfrogs and crickets sang a chorus of melody across the waters around us.
“I’m sure it is,” I said, as I threw another timber onto the fire.
The air was getting black now as the gentle breeze from the waters brought chills across our backs. From the other side of the river a coyote howled while the moon above stood motionlessly against the heavens.
“Your woman like to camp?” ask Dad, head cocked to one side.
‘Ahh, I took her a few times – seems to like it pretty good.” I replied.
“Can’t beat the outdoors, nothing like it.” he said without inflection. “Me and your granddaddy stayed in the outdoors,” he continued. “He’d fish all night. Done it a many of nights ’til the diabetes got so bad folks in Wytheville had to take his legs. Seems like yesterday me and him were out there catching them catfish. Think ’bout it all the time. Time just flies nowadays, son. You’ll see this when you get older. Life is short. Man never knows what tomorrow may bring him. All we do is take it one day at a time. That’s all we can do, son. One day at a time.”
“One day at a time,” I repeated, as I poked at the coals. “One day at a time.”
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