05 January 2009

the Tennessee, All the rest of them rebel rivers







The above serene, peaceful scenes taken from this past weekend around the Tennessee River as we celebrated Christmas with my Dad were taken moments before Ollie got his new fishing hook lodged in his thumb bad enough that we had to pack up the 3 dogs, our homemade banana bread, and all our crew in the back of the pick up truck down a dirt road to the other car and then finally speed to the local emergency room, only 15 minutes away. Ollie cried at first, a lot. But then settled into his usual pensiveness and asked, "Will they have to cut off my finger?" And, "Why can't we just use nets to fish." When the Dr. came in to investigate coupled with his statements like, "I'm not much of a fisherman, which way is this thing in there," and "it feels like I am snagging something," he also said, "this is going to be a little bee sting." When he left, Ollie said perplexed, "How will he use a bee?" Dear sweet one. So many rights of passage, what is next? What do we lack?

2 comments:

Bona Fide Mama said...

wow, poor guy. you think he'll ever want to try fishing again?

Anonymous said...

When I saw the picture of Ollie standing by the river (lake?), I immediately thought of his great-grandfather. The way he wore his hat, the way he held his pole, his stance. Robert Boggs was a great fisherman and Ollie will be one too.