A Day in the Sun

There are quiet days in the sun, fishing with my granddad Beck Sometimes it would be in a state park and sometimes it would be on one of the small pay lakes near his home. These times of solitude with him speak loudly from the recesses of my mind. Each day seemed to last forever, but in reality, passed in a flash leaving a bright memory, a spot like the flash of sunlight on a wavelet or the sheen of light on a fish as it splashed. Those instances have become frozen in time. A treasure that has been stored for use at anytime I want to see it.

When I retrieve each coin from my brain bank, I can feel the warmth of the summer’s day sunshine, tempered by a light breeze. Shadows of leave and clouds dance over me, sharing the joy of the moment. I relax on the bank with the soft lapping of the water at my feet. In the distance, I can hear red birds calling to one another. On the lake surface, a red and white bobber rises and falls with the waves’ movements. It all becomes hypnotic.

The coolness of the grass covered earth beneath me reaches through my jeans and shirt to caress my skin. I wait expectantly; the line on my pole is slack, stirred by the breeze.

On one side of me is my brother, Ken, with a line almost parallel to mine, his red hair shining coppery in the warming sunlight.

On the other side of me sits my grandfather Edson Thomas Beck, white hair glistening like snow on an aged mountain peak. His line cast a bit farther out into the pond. Even when the fish weren’t biting, it was a serene and peaceful.

These outings achieved what my grandfather intended. It was a time out from the routine. It was a time of sharing and bonding. It was a time of peace, even if I had to spend the afternoon with an irritating kid brother. Now, it has become a cherished memory.

It is strange how such an uneventful time in my life can etch so deeply, that it can be recalled over a half century later.