It isn’t “wild,” nor “blue ribbon” or “remote,” but it is “fun.” Sometimes we forget the last in chase of other words.
For years, I fished the place with flies and marabou jigs recommended at the fly shop.
For years, I never caught anything.
Decades later, I returned with my sons and own Dad, still. Same first day: status-conscious fishing—no fish.
Next day, we bought minnows.
Fish—lots of fish.
That’s the memory. That’s the “perfect day.”
Twice returned, twice near-to again.
“Fun”—don’t write it off because it sounds so common. Loss of sight and chase of other—more elitist—words, we realize it isn’t.
