TO FISH OR NOT TO FISH

It’s time to hit the water again and not necessarily at the wheel of a twenty foot boat loaded with every imaginable electronic device that can be installed. No, this is the time when we take to the water in waders or high boots, maybe sneakers or sandals if brave enough or even dipping a toe into a lake or stream from the very edge of the shoreline. It is fishing season so let the fun begin.
For those who willingly brave the snow and cold to fish through the ice all winter I suppose the season never really ended. For guys like me, though, who don’t much like snow and cold or the sound of ice cracking on a winter morning (experts tell me that’s a good thing but I have my doubts) the season ended last autumn as the last of the leaves fell and a chill wind rippled the water. Well, it’s back.
We can take to the water again to the extent we’re able and put out our lines baited with cheese, worms, marshmallows, corn or whatever we can scrounge up and settle back to wait for the first sign that there is indeed life beneath the waves. The bobber moves slowly away from shore, like those big barrels the Great White took in Jaws, and like every good angler we tug at the line, not too hard nor too easily, just so. Generally, we pull out only a hook with none of our bait still on it. Score one for the fish, tricky little devils that they are. But then that’s why they call it fishing, not catching.
The good part is that we are out there, enjoying the company of our families and friends or just by ourselves enjoying the outdoors. Either way fishing season is here and it’s about time.

VOICES IN THE DARKNESS

            When Harry Kalas died the other day (fittingly in a broadcast booth, I thought) it brought to mind that lineup of old time baseball announcers; the men you knew instantly by the sound of their voices, a particular phrase used often and delivered in just such a way --- Mel Allen, “The Scooter” and Harry, of course.

            A long time ago (not so long that the memories have gathered a whole lot of dust) there was radio. Television was a wild dream far beyond the imaginations of most of us, newspapers were fine but generally late with the news and the news reels at the movies always came in a week after the fact so radio filled a huge hole in our information diet.

            On warm summer evenings you could take a walk down nearly any street, listen to the murmured conversations, the tinkling ice in a drink and you could hear something else as well: you could hear America, the voices of sports announcers cutting across time zones to bring us the latest from the ball parks we knew we would never get to save in our imaginations. Each team had its own announcer and the sound of his voice became as familiar to us as that of a favorite uncle. We were tied into the rest of the United States and the next day we would be on common ground with anyone when it came to the runs, hits and errors of the night before.

            Harry Kalas tied that era to the present and made baseball on radio come alive in our minds eye --- it’s fair to say he did a pretty good job on television too. I wonder if there will be anyone to replace him at least in the manner I’ve become accustomed to: a voice out of the night, a voice that tied us all together.

Saying So Long to Some Friends

I've lost some friends over the past year or so; not close friends but good ones all the same.
They're newspapers from various cities across the nation and the reasons they're folding (some after more than 100 years of service to their respective communities) seem always to be the same: lack of readers and money. The Internet is blamed for the former, the lack of advertising for the latter.
I should tell you I happen to like newspapers. Someone told me once, when I was a young reporter, that if I wanted to know a community, really know a community, I should go to the local drugstore or diner as soon as I get into town and pick up a local paper. I have done that and have always been rewarded with a fairly complete explanation of what's going on in town, the comings and goings, births and deaths, the business of council and business in general; the small stuff that is really the seasoning to the main menu of downtown. The local newspaper never fails to make a good read and it matters not whether it's the New York Post or the Rocket-Courier in Wyalusing.
Now some of them have gone out of business though a few will make a comeback of sorts as Web sites. It won't be the same.
There won't be the manpower to produce nor the room for stories about the little things in a town, the stuff that really makes a place tick, makes it different from the next town in a long line of towns along nearly every highway.
True, the Internet is faster, a few minutes stopping at a few places and you have the news you need for the day. Well, almost all the news. The local obituary page, the social section, what's going on this weekend, who is visiting, who was born, the menu at school and any number of other little tidbits will not be visible and so will not be seen by the Surfer. In such cases we will be less-informed and that is never good for us.

Seeds to be Seen

I haven't gotten one in some time but for a while there seed catalogs were coming to the ranch it seemed by the truckload. That's dropped off maybe because I didn't buy much and the companies that sent them got tired of having nothing to show for their efforts.
Anyway, the catalogs were filled front to back with all kinds of interesting things to grow along with pictures of what could come out of one little envelope or box if you put your mind to it. I never did, of course, and so they might just as well have left the pages blank.
Seeds need TLC and lots of it, something I never seemed to have time for. My father-in-law did and when he was alive this time of year would find him in his basement patiently putting tomato or cucumber seeds into tiny cups filled with soil then putting them under a grow light. He bought very few seeds preferring to pick the best of what grew the year before and reincarnating them the next summer thereby always improving his crop. I had no patience for such things.
Still, I liked to look at the catalogs and imagine what I might grow out back if only there were more hours in the day. Over the years I found it more convenient to patronize a local farm stand and buy all the produce we need there. Less work that way and it tastes about as good as if I grew it myself.
Still, a catalog now and then, this time of year, would be nice. The promise of things to come can help you get through the roughest winter.

The Sound of a Hole in the Snow

So, taking pictures out in the hills is a hobby of mine. There are a lot of folks who do it much better than I (see Photo-Link Library each Friday at 6) but I enjoy being out and if a "keeper" picture accidentally makes it into my camera, well, all is good.

On Saturday I went out to a wooded area and stopped a few times here and there to see if anything might need to have its picture taken. At one point the wind stopped and I heard what I can best describe as the sound of water slowly running down a bathtub drain but I could see no water. Since I never try to hurry when I'm out on an adventure I stood and listened for a bit more and finally tracked the sound down. It was coming from a hole in the snow.

A thin layer of snow covered the small stream above and below from where I stood so the only place this little trickle of water could make itself known was at this hole in the snow made, perhaps, by a critter that wandered by. I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time to hear it saying hello.

Mother Nature can make some spectacular sights when she is of a mind to and some perfectly wonderful tiny ones as well.

Some Pictures to Peruse

You may have seen our regular feature, "Photo-Link Library" that generally runs each Friday afternoon. At the suggestion of our Webmaster I thought I'd add a few to my Blog page so you folks might enjoy them whenever you want. This one, from Dino Pantelakas of Dallas, for example. It's a stand of pine at Frances Slocum State Park. Nicely laid out, I thought. A good photographer always finds what the rest of us miss.

Sometimes you just need to be in the right place at the right time. Jim Nagle of Dimock was and he sent us this image of "Cloud Shadows". I suppose there is a scientific explanation and maybe I'll go over and see if Tom Clark has one, some day. For now, look closely at the small dots in the center of the photo and you'll see shadows behind them, black contrails they look like.

When I first saw this image I thought I slept through winter and woke up in summer. No.

Mary Ann Faust of Paxinos writes this butterfly picture is from last summer, she happened across them while out biking. Yes, it's still winter. I added this because I wanted to remind myself that the end of winter will come some day and maybe I'll be lucky enough to get a photo like this.

I do hope you like this little feature, dear reader; we'll add photos as time and space permit. Remember, your photos are always welcome in the Photo-Link Library