My God, it's finally warming up. Tomorrow's high above sixty followed by a string of seventy degree days. Even up north it looks like winter will finally end in a flash of glory. Of course that means incredible flooding from here to the Mississippi delta but what's a little tragedy now and then so long as it doesn't get in the way of walleye fishing?
And my son Allan sounds like he'll be able to free up a couple of weekends for fishing. With a bit of luck that means four brief fishing forays in the northwoods with people I enjoy spending time with on the water. Time alone is great but sharing it is better.
Tomorrow Lois and I head south to Sioux Falls with a stop on the way to pick up jigs for tying. Nothing brings joy to the terminally (anally?) cheap like turning a couple of dozen half buck items into a couple of dozen buck and a halfers. Then giving them away with a, "Try these. Tell me if they work."
Maybe I could prepare for the trips by writing a walleye fishing song along the lines of something Pooh bear would have made up. After all, he was a bear. Must have eaten more than just honey. But I suppose A.A. Milne didn't want to scare the bejeezus out of little Christopher Robin with stories of his beloved stuffed animal ripping the guts out of a still wriggling fish. But, c'mon, ain't the image of Pooh with a ring of droozling blood and guts around his fuzzy little mouth cute as all get out?
The thought of Pooh as a real bear, preferably a brown bear, has its charm. His little piggy, donkey and rodent friends wouldn't have been around long. Would have ended up as little steaming piles of scat along the paths of The Hundred Acre Woods. Could almost be the grist for an Uncle Emil story.