Fish Story

Daily Note

Every day, a photograph, a poem.

When my dad tells a fish story, it’s real. It’s a whopper, and he comes with proof:

Any northern pike over twenty pounds is considered a whopper, trophy fish. This fish hung in the Lake Audubon bar and grill called Totten Trail for years until it was sold and I inherited it because my cousin, who owned it, saved it for me. You can see my dad’s fishing hat hanging from the tail.

Now the northern pike and Dad’s hat proudly displays on top of our bookcases. I would to take it to school on opening day to share about my family when I taught middle school language arts / media.

I’ve written more about the story on my previous blog, Ask What Else: Did Not Get Away and on my education blog to talk also about the writing process: What Else Did Not Get Away.

But today, I’m remembering that both my parents, Charles and Ruth, were avid anglers– most summer nights and every weekend was spent on the edge of some fish hole, from the Missouri River, to the Heart River, to Lake Sakakawea or Lake Audubon.

When we were little, Dad found places with sand where my brother and I could build castles and catch [and release] toads. We couldn’t swim and we had to be quiet because either of those would chase away the fish, which were a primary part of our diet.

I seldom eat fish anymore. I ate a lot of fish as a kid.

But today is April Fool’s Day, and I’m sharing a whopper, but this whopper is a true story.

And so a poem…

Poetry

Fish Story

When my dad tells a
fish story; it’s a whopper—
twenty-two pounds reeled
in; twenty-two pounds real;
No April Fool’s; no tall tale.

Sheri Edwards
04.01.24 092.365.24
Poetry/Photography