how i learned to fish
I’m very excited for this weekend. The Crew (and I) are going camping at a place called Brunet Island State Park. I am very excited, but overly excited for one thing in particular – FISHING. Because I wasn’t a blogging nerd from the time I was a wee toddler until about the age of 20, you missed out on a good 20 years of fishing stories. Seriously.
When I’m home over Thanksgiving, I’ll have to scan in some photos from my formative fishing years. Not only can you see how hardcore I was back in the day, but also my terrific fashion sense while aboard a boat with a motor that doesn’t go over 30 MPH.
You know who I learned most of my fishing bidness from? My grammas. Sure, my dad was there a lot, too, but you’ve never seen two harder fishing folk then my two grammas.
Man, I miss the 90s, where I’d spend every weekend possible in a mobile home that’d be converted into my grandparents’ lake home. My grandparents would take four of us between the ages of five (when they first got married) and 18 (when we got jobs and couldn’t visit as much) out on the boat nearly every day and let us fish until we started fighting, and then it was back to the trailer where we had to clean everything off the Pontoon boat and help put everything back in its exact proper spot, only to start it all over the next morning.
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