I don't remember the first time I went fishing, who I was with or where I went. I just know that it led to a life time enjoyment that I love even today.

    My dad was a laborer, he had a fifth grade education( due to the fact his mom died and he left school to take care of his dad and two younger brothers) but the man was smart. He taught himself to read, and he loved it. I can't remember a day that he didn't read a newspaper front to back. His favorite magazines were Reader's Digest, Sports Afield, and True Detective ( oh Daddy )

    Anyway, being the youngest of seven gave me distinct advantages and disadvantages. Advantage, too small to stay out in the garden too long. Disadvantage, small enough to crawl under the truck and use the grease gun on the undercarriage of his truck. But, my favorite thing to do with daddy was to fish. I can close my eyes and hear the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the smell of the grimy worms on my fingers, the sun shinning down on us. The smell of his cigarette smoke as it drifted past me, and his deep voice saying, " You got one Kat, pull it in, get it!" He was tanned from working outside either from gardening in the summer or his work outside to earn our living. He was about 6' tall and was slim. Allot of my nephews and my son's are built like him. He had coal black hair, high cheek bones, the nose of his Indian heritage and a gentle quietness that was very calming. I adored my daddy, yet he could freeze you  with a glance. Thankfully I can only remember a small share of those " glances" being turned on me.

    Daddy lived to be outdoors. He was an avid hunter as well as a fisherman. If it had to do with outdoors and he could catch it, or hunt it; he was there. I know allot of people don't think hunting and killing animals is right, and I don't think it is either just for sport. But, we lived off the fish he caught, and the deer he killed. That meat was cleaned and put into the freezer for meals through out the year.
I didn't get to go with daddy allot when I was younger that was the job of my four brothers. Sometimes mama and me would go with him, sit and read books or wait for him  to come back to camp. There was a whole group of men that he hunted with and a couple that were fishing buddies. But, when it was camping for the weekend mama and I would pack up and go too.

    As I became a teenager and the other brothers and sisters were growing, graduating, joining the service or getting married, I started to play basketball in highschool. I left daddy's fishing and hunting group for a small while. I did the dating thing, the group hang out thing, and the falling in love ( yeah) thing. But, I always came back to be with daddy.

    One of my very favorite memories is falling asleep in a tent to the sound of him casting his line out into the water, splash...then the sound of him reeling it in and starting over. The glow of the Coleman lantern he had left on for mama and me out side hanging on the tree near the tent. The glow of a fire burning out, sizzling now and then with a small hiss as it cracked another limb into. I would lay there and snuggle down into the quilts we had brought and listen to the crickets and watch the fireflies( lightnin' bugs )and fall asleep knowing there was nothing in this world that could harm me ever. It was a feeling I'll never forget.

    When eventually it was just me, mama and daddy left at home, I became his surrogate fifth son. I would go squirrel hunting with him, my job to be quite until he spotted one, then go around the side of the tree and make some noise so the squirrel would come around to his side of the tree. Then of course after hunting home to clean them. For those of you who have never skinned a squirrel you don't know what you've missed ( tongue in cheek) It was an experience, how ever nothing compared to helping gut a deer. I know there are people reading this and thinking, " Oh my God, this poor little girl, how gruesome."  Not even, it was great, anything to be with daddy outside.
Daddy also had some hunting dogs, blue ticks and black and tans. It was my job to water and feed them at night. The summer wasn't so bad, but winter brought darkness early. I was afraid of the dark, when daddy said, " Kat, go feed the dogs now." I would make up every excuse in the book to keep from going out to the dog pen alone, ( now I look back and it was a walk in the park) but at 13 or so it seems like it was fifteen miles away. Finally after all else all failed I would say, " daddy, I'm scared." He would not even look up from what he was doing and say, " The only thing in this world you have to be afraid of is me, and I am right here in this house!" So, off I would go, running like mad to get out there, throw the food in the pen not caring if it hit the pan or not! Just get me back in that house.

    But, I guess my favorite sport to do with daddy next to fishing was fox hunting. Now for those of you not privileged to grow up in the south, or have never enjoyed this sport, you have no idea the adrenaline rush. And no harm done to the animals.

    We would go out about 10 at night, load up the truck with the dogs, Ole Caroline, Lightnin' and Thunder, and a glass eyed cur I never can remember the name of. We would stop at a little country store on our way out, Miss Annie Mae's store, where I was allowed to load up on Pepsi, potato chips, candy what ever I wanted. I would climb in the back of the truck with the dogs and off we would go. We would drive about seven or eight miles into the woods out by the lake, by this time we were joined by my daddy's buddies, Mr. Arthur, Mr. Irby, Mr. T.C., Mr. Ersel, Oliver (Keg) Perkins and numerous others, depending on the weather or what ever reason. ( In the south growing up every one was Mr. Or Ms. first name or else Uncle or Aunt first name, thus the Mr. First names)
Next a huge fire would be built and logs would be drug over to encircle the fire. The dogs would be going nuts by now knowing what they were there for. Daddy would put the tail gate of the truck down and that is where I would sit and listen. The dogs would be turned loose and as soon as they picked up the scent of a fox, or sometimes raccoon, off they would fly in every direction. The men would then settle around the fire, put the metal coffee pot on and brew up some Seaport Coffee (another Southern thing ) They it would begin. The dogs howling off in the distance and each man saying their dogs name as it howled, " That's ole Blue there," one would say, " no that's Ole Caroline" said another. And on and on for hours it would go. The point you may be asking right about now, those who have heard the hounds howl I don't have to answer that for you, those who haven't, well I don't think there is a way I could explain it and do it justice. Just the smell of the coffee brewing, the smell of the wood burning, the sound of the dogs howling, the sight of the men circling the fire. The laughter, the friendship, the arguing about the dogs; there was and never will be anything like it for me again. I would sometimes bring my little am radio and listen to music, but mostly I would just lay there on the quilt, eating, drinking my Pepsi and listening to the night. I would often fall asleep listening to the voices of the men I had known since birth. My daddy's friends. A time when you didn't have to be afraid of your parents friends, and you had respect for them just as you did your own parents. If they told you to stop doing something you stopped. They were your elders and you listened to them. They had the same authority as my daddy, and when one said, " don't do that." I didn't do it! No questions~! I can remember sometimes feeling daddy shaking me and saying, " Kat, lets go time to go home." I would barely remember walking into the house or getting into my bed, it was just one of those so relaxed, so secure feelings, the kind as you grow up and realize the way the world really is that you never feel again.

    My daddy passed away on April 15th, 1978, I was only 26 years old. I thought he was an old man, as he was 57. I am now as I write this 48 years old, and I have two sons, and two grandchildren. But, sometimes as I lay down to go to sleep I hear the crickets out side or catch a glimpse of a firefly and my mind and soul go racing back; back to the moon shining on the trees, the fire burning in the circle, the men's shadows flickering in the night and the sound of Ole Caroline howling in the woods and to daddy who was and always will be my favorite fishing and hunting partner, and I would even crawl under that old truck and feed those old hounds at midnight on a moonless night, if but I could see him again. I love you daddy. Kat................

And to a 14 year old freckled face girl whose idea of a great Saturday night date were all these men and the memories they gave me.