Remembering A Favorite Quip Of Grandpa Peter's . . .

Grandpa Peter used to loved to cite a favorite quip from the 1930's: "Call me whenever you like . . . just don't call me late for dinner!" N.B. Sundays were the only days Grandpa Peter could say this, as he was ALWAYS late for dinner during the week, when he would be out late every evening cleaning and repairing refrigerators and oil burners, leaving little time for him to engage in his favorite activities. . . reading AND (in the spring, summer and autumn) fishing!

"Forgot My FishingTackle . . . "

And the fish love to bite on a grey day. . .

Photo by MarashGirl©2021 Above blog intended to be published on Saturday, July 10, 2021.

Fishing on Neponset Lake in Foxborough, Massachusetts

Often, on Sunday afternoons, Marash Girl's father Peter would drive to Heaton's Marina in Foxborough, Massachusetts, to spend a relaxing hour or two, fishing on Neponset Lake. . . he would often invite Marash Girl to join him . . . Why Marash Girl? Because she knew that fish (and her father with his fly rod) were alert to sound and motion, and thus she knew to keep still (both verbally and physically) while fishing from the flat-bottomed wooden rowboat on Neponset Lake in Foxborough, Massachusetts, all those many years ago . . . that is, if she hoped that a fish would be lured to the worm on her hook or to her father's red devil fishing lure!

Deep Sea Fishing With Dad in Newburyport

Third grader that she was, Marash Girl tugged very hard on her fishing line, so excited was she that she had a caught a fish; as she tugged, the line with the mackerel on the end of it swung behind her and smacked another fisherman . . . a man fishing on the opposite side of the boat . . . a cold wet smack right on the back of his neck.  The "injured" fisherman came roaring across the boat seeking to punch out his attacker.  Marash Girl's father (toughly muscled and fearless as he was) tried to calmed the fellow, giving him the eye and saying, "She's only a little girl . . . she didn't mean to hurt you.  She just didn't know how hard to pull!"  The man backed off, moved to a different spot on the other side of the large fishing boat . . . far enough away from Marash Girl so that he wouldn't have to feel another wet smack on the back of his neck . . . or have to deal with Marash Girl's father, iron-fisted Peter.  And that, as they say, was that!!!!

Going Fishing in Foxboro

In the spring, all minds turn to fishing, at least the minds of Marash Girl and her dad! On this particular spring Sunday afternoon, we were driving to Foxboro to attempt to catch some pickerel at the Heatons, where we could rent a flat-bottomed rowboat with a small motor. Much to our surprise, a policeman hiding behind a large sign came roaring out from the side of the road on his motorcycle, siren blaring, and pulled Dad over. Dad got out of the car to talk to the policeman, and little Marash Girl followed. The policeman accused Dad of going over the speed limit. Dad respectfully replied that he had been going at the speed limit, which I believe was 50 mph. The two adults got into a little argument at which point the policeman said, "You're a liar!" Little Marash Girl piped up, "My daddy is not a liar!!!" The policeman and Daddy burst out laughing, and that, as they say, was the end of that!!!!

Fishermen and Pickup Trucks

Marash Boy took Marash Girl out to Auburndale for breakfast today, her favorite place to go for Sunday's brunch buffet. They were seated right next to the large expanse of windows overlooking the Charles River.  But today the parking lot was full of pickup trucks with such license plates as 

              and  

What was going on?  Well, it turns out that there was a gathering of Castafare (cast afar, hey!) fishermen, an outfit "offering Cape Cod deep sea fishing charters for tuna, marlin, striped bass, and tournament fishing off of Massachusetts on a 45 foot custom".  The dining hall was filled with fishermen from Massachusetts, Rhode Island and a few from New Hampshire.  

Deep sea fishing?  Marash Girl remembers when she would go deep sea fishing with her father in Newburyport, on Plum Island.  They would board a fishing boat and go out into the deep; if they were lucky (and the captain of the boat had followed the seagulls), they may have just found a run of mackerel, mackerel who were hungry, eager to take the bait on the fishing rods provided by the captain of the fishing vessel.  (Marash Girl can't remember the name of the outfit  now, as it is no longer operating out of Plum Island, Newburyport, Massachusetts.) 

Marash Girl remembers one such trip when, upon feeling a bite on her line, she pulled back so hard that the line came up out of the water with the fish on the end of the line, a fish which went flying through the air, still attached to the line, and smacked the fisherman who was fishing from the opposite side of the boat, smacked him right behind his sunburned neck.  Was he ever angry!  He turned around in a rage and came stomping and roaring across the deck, only to find a little girl holding the fishing rod on the other end of the line that held that mackerel that had smacked him.  "She's only 8 years," Peter said benignly to the raging fellow, the rage quickly dissipating into laughter.