Catch and Release

I took it for granted as a child. But now,  I understand how fortunate I was to have grown up in rural America – first on a farm with a creek and then on a ranch with a creek. Each one of these ambling streams had big names – the first being the Elkhorn River and the second being the Calamus River. To be quite honest, where our properties were located, both of them were little more than a creek. That was okay with me – all that much sooner that my folks would allow me to explore the banks by myself. It was a grand day when they felt I was old enough to high-tail it to the creek without supervision! And the best part about these two creeks, were that they were still large enough to have some monstrous fish – well…they seemed monstrous looking through my child lenses.

My first experiences with fishing were on the banks of that Elkhorn River in northeast  Nebraska. Topographically, it lay on the  western edge of our property, running south where it would join up with the Platte River near Omaha.  Grandpa Harley would often show up in his old gray Ford sedan with a fishing rod, a well used tackle box, and a Butternut coffee can full of worms. There wasn’t anything I would rather do than accompany Grandpa through the thistle patch – my cane pole perched over my shoulder while my other hand carried my very own tackle box with a few necessary items – not the least being a small bottle of Merthiolate. Some time within each fishing experience with Grandpa, when he would tire of my constant chatter, he would lean close to me and whisper, “Okay, we need to be quiet so we don’t scare the fish away.” Somehow, we always seemed to return to the house with fish on the stringer.

The summer before I was to start sixth grade Dad and Mom traded the farm for a ranch in north central Nebraska. This time it was the Calamus River that threaded it’s way through the clover and grassy meadows of our new property.  It took me no time at all to pick out a favorite fishing hole. At that time, there were only two species in the Calamus – carp and northern pike. I never did catch a pike, but it was seldom that I didn’t come home with a carp or two on my stringer. We were always thankful for whatever God provided in the way of food, and Mom could fry up a good meal of carp and fried potatoes. (My taste buds found the carp very satisfactory, no doubt helped along by the fact that it had been I that had caught them.)

When Stan and I married, 15 years ago, he introduced me to “catch and release.” I had to get used to that idea. But, he was right – we weren’t especially fond of the trout we caught; yet we both liked to fish. So now, we only keep the ones that are damaged beyond survival. I’ve managed to come to the point that I cheer for the ones we’ve released as they flip their tails and head happily out into deeper waters.

My earlier fishing experiences of toting home everything I caught seems to parallel how I’ve been known to reel in a burden, put it on my stringer, and let it take up residence in my mind. As a praying person, I discuss with God on my way back through the “thistle patch”, whether I’d like Him to grill, fry, or bake my problem. In the past, I’ve been quite certain of how I thought He should cook it, and sometimes I’ve even jerked the pan out of His hands. There is hope though, even in the likes of me. Now that I have gotten used to the idea of “catch and release”, I am trying to cast my burdens upon Him and trust Him to deal with my concern in whatever way he thinks best. I can imagine He is as excited as those fish we release to have the freedom to do what is in my best interest –  in His timing and without my interference.

Until next month, keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

DeLila with catfish caught in the Calamus, 2007

If you enjoy this style of writing, please check out my book page on this same site and how to obtain the two Christian fiction books I have written.