RRN Online Volume 443

November 27 '04

Volume 443

Fall Fishing 2004 From Joel's To Joyce's

I believe that a man who is too busy to fish is a man with the wrong priorities, and I’ve long agreed with the humorous adage, "A bad day of fishing is better than a good day at work." However, I must admit my priorities have been wrong all too often for the past few years, as my once frequent fishing trips have been reduced to only two trips per year. But, when I think about it, perhaps, it’s not so much a matter of misplaced priorities, as it is a matter of opportunity.

During my teen years, a small lake across the road and down the hill from my home provided ample opportunities to fish. While it was often difficult to find an opening along the bank large enough to allow one to cast a lure, openings were more prevalent than the funds required to purchase a boat in order to enjoy "off shore" fishing.

I was a college junior before I owned a car, so for most of my youth, I was limited to fishing-holes within walking distance of my home, and I was married and the father of two children before I was able to buy a boat with a trailer. Even then, I didn’t have a vehicle with a trailer hitch, but I had friends who did and were willing to pull my boat to a lake in order for two or more of us to fish.

I still have the boat, but it’s moored (I use the term loosely) at Joel Hale’s lake. Joel allows me to use my boat as often as I desire, but for some reason, I can’t seem to get out to his lake more than once or twice a year. Again, I can’t say for sure if the reason has more to do with priorities or with opportunity, but when I do get to fish Joel’s lake, I truly enjoy myself. Joel seems to have a good time no matter what he does, and I’ve always enjoyed fishing with him more so than our playing golf together. I’ve beaten him catching fish from his own lake, but I’ve never beaten him in a round of golf. But, in both, it’s not the score that is important; it’s the joyful exchange of fellowship that maintains our friendship.

With all the yard work I’ve taken on over the past few years, the demands of work, and the time devoted to this newsletter, I’ve learned that if I want to go fishing, I simply have to schedule a time and go. The carefree and drop-everything days of yesteryear are gone and with them are gone a lot of opportunities to go fishing. But, when Jim Hess phoned a month or so ago to ask about our fishing together the week prior to Thanksgiving, I arranged my schedule to be off work the Thursday and Friday before Thanksgiving.

"What about Lee?" I asked. "Have you talked to him?"

"No, I imagine he’ll be into hunting by then," Jim responded.

"Now there’s an example of misplaced priorities," I thought, "a man choosing hunting over fishing."

However, I contacted Lee and invited him to join us, if things worked out for him. I also invited Gordon Sansing, the fourth member of our team of impressive and accomplished anglers. Gordon penciled in the dates on his calendar and promised to try to keep the dates open for fishing. As a group, the four of us had fished together last May near Livingston, AL.

Ours is a ritual in which each of us strives to participate twice a year, springtime and autumn. It’s a ritual for which the nature of my work renders me more readily suited to honor than my friends who are Baptist ministers. Deaths, weddings, conferences, and other church related matters are often obstacles that prevent all four of us from getting together on a given date. Yet, it was none of the above that prevented Gordon Sansing from joining us. Gordon cited a doctor’s appointment in excusing himself from our fall fishing trip. Our group event would only have included Jim and me, had an exclusive deer hunting opportunity not fallen through at the last minute for Lee Gordon.

Since we usually fish Joel Hale’s lake one day or afternoon when our group gathers in Pontotoc, we invite Joel as well. However, Joel had committed to helping with the "Feeding of the Five Thousand" on the very day we planned to fish his lake. Furthermore, we had not heard from Lee as of noon Thursday, so that meant Jim and I would have the lake to ourselves.

Thursday was a rainy day, and while periods of light rain persisted throughout the afternoon, our enthusiasm was not dampened. In fact, we caught most of our fish in the rainy periods. Adding to our enjoyable afternoon were the colors of autumn that dotted the nearby hillsides. Fall foliage in and around Pontotoc has been less than spectacular this year, but several of the trees bordering Joel’s lake stood out from their surroundings. If I knew my trees better, I’d supply their names. Instead, I can only say the trees with the most beautiful leaves bore either yellow leaves or burnt orange ones.

For the record, Jim out fished me on the order of perhaps a five to one ratio. He caught most of his fish on a small, shallow running, chartreuse-colored crank bait, the likes of which I didn’t have, and he only had the one. Oh, he offered to let me use his fishing lure, but I’m a proud, if not stubborn, fisherman, and to have accepted his offer would have been to acknowledge the superiority of his lure over those I was using. So, I declined his offer and drew contentment in catching an occasional bass with my own fishing lures.

Lee Gordon called Thursday evening to let us know that he would be joining us on Friday morning. I phoned Joyce Odom to get permission to fish the Rackley watershed lake behind her home near the Pleasant Grove community. I asked about access to the lake and was told we could drive down the hillside to the water’s edge. However, upon our arrival, Friday morning, we discovered much of the timber had been logged from the hillside, and the road to the lake was largely impassable for a two-wheel drive pickup truck. About one-fourth the way down the hill, we stopped to survey the rutted dirt road. Yes, we could have driven down to the lake, but there was considerable doubt in our minds that we could have gotten back up the grade without the aid of a tractor.

We unhitched the trailer from Jim’s truck and walked it back to the hilltop. For a while it looked as though Jim’s pickup would not be able to pull the rain-dampened hill, but it finally made it. Since no one was home at Joyce’s house, I suggested we contact her dad, Calvin Rackley who lives a short distance away in the beautifully restored home of his childhood. Mr. Rackley was working in his yard when we drove up and graciously offered a key to the gate for the levee road.

"This key opens one of the locks," he explained. "There are several of them, but you should be able to get in."

We tried the key and it opened one of the locks. Unfortunately, it was not the one holding the chain around the gate. We returned to explain our situation to Mr. Rackley.

"Somebody, didn’t fasten it back right!" he grumbled. "Y’all go on, and I’ll take my truck."

At the gate, Mr. Rackley soon saw our dilemma and stated, "That makes me so mad for somebody to do that. But, I can fix it."

And, grabbing a pair of bolt cutters from his toolbox, fix it he did.

"There," he cried, after cutting the chain, "Y’all drive on in, and I’ll fix this right."

"Don’t lock us in," I pleaded.

"I won’t. I’ll leave it unlocked," he stated.

The road to the levee was in pretty good shape, and we didn’t worry about our getting back to the highway once we were done fishing. We considered sliding the boat down the levee to the water but found we could drive across the levee and put in at a place where the ground was flatter, though we soon discovered the area was almost too shallow to float our boat.

We unhitched the boat and trailer and walked it as close to the water as we dared. It took some struggling and sloshing and I ended up with wet feet, but we managed to shove ourselves out of the shallows and were soon fishing. We fished long and hard for the few fish we caught. After approximately five hours, we only had eight fish on our stringer. We each caught three bass, but the last one I caught was so small, I chose not to string it.

I suspected Lee might have rather been hunting, but I didn’t say anything. He and Jim "talked shop" much of the afternoon, and I learned more about which minister of music at which church had done what or else had left to serve at another church than I really cared to know. Thankfully, they talked about other things, as well, things like family members and grandkids, things with which I’m also familiar and to which I could relate.

Near sunset, we considered dragging our boat up the levee rather than sloshing back the way we came, but we thought better of it. As it turned out, we made the right decision. We had less trouble loading the boat onto the trailer from the shallows than we anticipated, and with Jim and me pulling while Lee pushed the rig up the slope, we managed without becoming exhausted, something I’m sure we would have been, had we taken the levee option.

The success of a fishing trip cannot be measured by the catch alone. Apart from catching fish, there’s a lot to be said for simply being outdoors, communing with Nature, enjoying the company of good friends, and eating lunch on the water. Though our catch was small, our adventure was great, and one that won’t soon be forgotten. At the very least, it will hold us ‘til next time.

For A Good Cause Baggies For Troops

Of all the states, in this our United States, Mississippi ranks number one in charitable giving per capita. We are less proud of a similar ranking with respect to obesity. Mississippians are more familiar with the bottom rungs of the national ladder. Yes, we rank last or near the bottom with respect to teacher pay and a host of other measurable attributes, but we’re generous when it comes to helping others. I suggest Mississippi owes its generosity ranking to Christians whose religious values are rooted in Judaism and the teachings of Jesus, not those of Buddha or Mohammed. Others may disagree, but I suggest the evidence is on my side.

Barbara Baldwin, wife of Dr. John Baldwin, exemplifies generosity and the volunteer spirit of many Mississippians. She sent me the following request, which I am happy to share with readers of this newsletter.

"On Wednesday mornings a small group of faithful Pontotoc County volunteers meet at the Chamber of Commerce and pack "baggies" for our deployed troops. These zip lock bags hold small personal items such as Chapstick, toothpaste, and sunscreen. We have raised enough money to ship 10,000 baggies so far. Now, we are completely out of supplies and money and must re-group in order to support the 155th, which will be deployed in January. We want to continue to send supplies to our deployed soldiers and will have a fundraising (and supply) day on Wednesday, Dec. 29th, at the Chamber from 9 a.m. till 8 p.m. We need all the help we can get - maybe some of your grocery store vendors could help."

"Also, included in each baggie is a hand written letter of encouragement. I've collected and compiled about 100 of our Pontotoc County children's letters and put them in book form. All profits from the sale of the book will be donated to the American Legion Post 16 (Pontotoc) so we can buy more supplies."

"The book is entitled "Dear Soldier, If you get hurt call my mama". The letters are priceless. I've received endorsements from Congressman Roger Wicker, Dr. Kevin Koehler who is currently deployed, and others. We're going to sell the book for $12.00 each. I can't tell you yet exactly where they'll be sold because it has to be where someone doesn't want a "cut". For sure the downtown post office, and the banks. It's being printed right now and should be ready well before Christmas."

Persons interested in making a donation, or purchasing a book may contact Barbara Baldwin or Ridge Rider News for more information. Your generosity is appreciated, and it’s for a good cause.

Colonoscopy Monday November 22nd

Dark blood in ones stool is not a good sign and could be indicative of any one of a host of digestive tract disorders. Red blood is generally regarded with less concern unless it involves hemorrhaging. However, when the latter color appeared following a recent morning ritual, I was mildly alarmed.

"I think you need to see a doctor," Barbara urged. "Do you want me to call Steve and get you an appointment?"

"Now, you know a doctor won’t know if there’s a real problem without a lot of tests!" I protested. "Let’s see how well I do for the rest of the morning."

By noon, I had reconsidered my position and phoned Barbara from Memphis to ask her to contact my local physician, Dr. Steve Montgomery. She called his office and was told they could work me in around four o’clock that afternoon. I was a few miles north of Pontotoc when Dr. Montgomery phoned me.

"I’ve instructed our receptionist to send you back as soon as you get here," he stated.

About an hour and a half after being sent right back, the doctor was examining me. Upon learning it had been several years since I had a colon exam, he recommended I have a colonoscopy. I gave him permission to set up the procedure with Dr. Bailey in Tupelo. Initially the appointment conflicted with my planned fishing trip, so it was rescheduled for December, and something must have later created a conflict for the doctor and my appointment was scheduled for this past Monday.

Having had the joy of laxative-induced intestinal cleansing on the day prior to my prostate surgery, I was acutely aware of what lay before me. I will note only that there are much more pleasant ways to spend a Sunday afternoon and evening, but at least I managed to avoid dehydration by consuming large quantities of water throughout the day of my liquid diet.

After I awakened from the colonoscopy procedure, Dr. Bailey came by to announce the results of the exam.

"I hate to say the good news is you have hemorrhoids, but the good news is you have hemorrhoids. There are no polyps, and while you have a few diverticula, that’s normal for someone your age. Congratulations, and keep doing whatever you’ve been doing."

In sharing the results of my colonoscopy with persons interested in my well-being, I’ve taken to borrowing the expression Lee Gordon claims his doctor used following Lee’s last exam.

"You’ve got chitlins good enough for Bryan." (Chitlins is colloquial for chitterlings and Bryan is a regionally known meat packing plant in West Point, MS.)

There now, who says one can’t write on this subject tastefully?

Bodock Beau Subject: Colon Exam

If there can be found a good place to share the following, it would be following the preceding article.

A physician claims these are actual comments from his patients that were made while he was performing colon exams:

Take it easy Doc! You’re boldly going where no man has gone before!
Find Amelia Earhart yet?
Can you hear me NOW!
Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
You know, in Alabama…we’re now legally married.
Any sign of the trapped miners, Chief?
You put your left hand in; you take your left hand out…you do the Hokey Pokey…and yeeow!
Now I know how a Muppet feels!
Hey Doc, let me know if you find my dignity.
Could you write a note for my wife stating that my head is not, in fact, up there?

And finally, the following is attributed to the wit of comic Steven Wright:
"I stayed in a really old motel last night. They sent me a wake-up letter."

Contributions by Kim Goslin

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