His Favorite Time

There was silence on the lake this morning. It was his favorite time of day, really. Not quite light, so the birds were not yet stirring, making their familiar cries as they greeted the new day. After the moon had already set, silencing the creatures of the night. It was the perfect time to drop a line in the reeds, he mused.

A steaming thermos of coffee by his side, tackle box open at his feet, maybe a donut or a slice of the pie his wife had baked last night. Sometimes their old black lab would follow him down to the dock, still keeping watch over his master as the sun came up.

Today, though, he was all alone. Nothing but the plop of a line in the water, and his thoughts for company. He loved this time. It seemed like all the world was as peace, locked in a moment of perfection. It mattered not if he pulled something out of the lake that morning. Sure, a nice fresh lake trout would be mighty nice on the coals of his smoker, but it wasn’t really a necessity. Today, he had come to this spot because his memories ran strong here.

He remembered with a smile the first time he had brought each of his children to the lake. His oldest daughter was just a few weeks old the first time she was on the water. Technically, she wasn’t fishing, but he and his wife had such a wonderful time introducing their first baby to the past-time they loved.

His smile grew wider as he thought of her as a curly-haired toddler, sitting on a pier with her little pole held tight in both hands. They were fishing for steelhead that day. She wouldn’t have been able to land one, but she sure enjoyed trying. He thought about how upset she had been, upon taking a fishing break, when her coloring book slipped through the slats of the pier into the water below. It was Star Trek, or Star Wars, or something along those lines. Her big crocodile tears had broken hearts up and down the beach that day.

Next, his thoughts drifted to his youngest daughter. A dynamo from birth, she had taken to fishing with a determination. While his eldest had been content to sit for hours, barely saying a word, this one chattered his ear off….and anyone else who happened to be along.

“When will the fish bite, Daddy? What makes them want to bite the line? Can we make them come sooner? What will you do after they bite? Will Mommy cook them? Is it time for a snack yet?”

Anyone listening would have thought that he was completely ignoring her. But he heard every word, and answered in his low voice whenever she paused. She didn’t seem to need the answers to all her questions, just the ones at the end of her monologue. He laughed to think that she hadn’t changed as she got older.

Then there was his son. Younger than both the girls, he was quiet like his oldest sister, yet strongly passionate like his middle sister. It was like a melding of the older two, while his own nature still shined through. When he took his son to the lake, he watched his father with all the concentration his small self possessed. When the man baited a hook, the boy watched intently so that he could do the same. When the man sipped from his thermos, the boy seriously took a sip of hot cocoa from his own small thermos. When the man reached down to absently pat the dog, the boy could be seen doing the same just a few seconds later.

His three kids, beautiful masterpieces that he and his wife created. Though eight years separated the oldest from the youngest, there were so many things alike about each of them. And, he laughed to himself, so very many differences. But he concentrated on the similarities.

All three of them were strong and independent, and would take no garbage from anyone. They all loved to eat, loved food, and loved to create. They learned that growing up. Not only did his wife insist that they each take turns in the kitchen, they also watched Dad and Mom work side by side. And, they all knew that family was to be protected above all. He had seen these three get mad before, and he sure wouldn’t want them collectively angry at him!

Now, they were grown up, each going their separate ways. Each of them had found a partner that he approved of. Not that that was the defining character, of course. But still, he quietly approved of their choices. The girls had chosen men that loved them, cherished them, protected them, laughed with them, and nurtured their independent spirit. The boy had chosen a woman with those qualities, and he loved and respected her and treated her special. What more could a father ask for, really?

He heard the distant slamming of a car door, and his grin nearly cracked his face. True, he would have been content that his three grew up well-adjusted and happy. He was overjoyed that they had each found someone special to spend their lives with, as he had with their mother. But when they had presented the older couple with the newest members of the family, he found that his happiness overflowed every time a new baby was born.

Every one of them was celebrated, and welcomed into their growing family. Now, he and his wife got to hear “Gramma and Grampa” coming from young voices. Their parents encouraged and nurtured the relationship between grandparents and grandkids. And, to his great delight, they too enjoyed dropping a line in the water. Just like their parents before them, they all had their own personalities and their own ways of sitting on the dock. And just as he had for the last thirty years, he enjoyed every minute he got to spend with these five. Alone or as a group, they filled his heart with joy.

As the sound of voices grew louder, he thought about packing up and heading up the hill toward the house to meet them. Suddenly, bursting out of the brush, came Old Dodger, suddenly spry and full of life. He knew how Dodger felt, because his kids and their kids energized him. Deciding to sit with his memories for just a bit longer, he left his line in the water and took a slow sip of coffee.

It wouldn’t be long now. After Gramma had fussed over them and fed them (because of course they were all of a sudden starving, just ask them), she would send them to the lake. There, they would converge upon him, overwhelming him with a cacophony of noise and shattering the quiet of the lake. He smiled fit to burst when he realized that he couldn’t wait.

“Grampa, Grampa! Gramma gave us donuts and we got to feed Dodger treats and she said we could fish with you, if you say that’s ok, so we need plenty of fuel. Grampa, what’s fuel and why do we need it to go fishing? Are we gonna have fish for dinner tonight if we catch some? Momma says that fresh grilled trout is the best. Can we catch some trout?”

Three sets of big eyes looked up adoringly at him as he stood at the end of the dock. As he watched, his youngest daughter and his daughter-in-law walked out of the trees with a tow-headed little girl between them. Only a few feet behind them followed his son with the newest member of the family, wrapped snugly and fast asleep. The two wonderful men that his daughters had married came next, joking and laughing. Slowly bringing up the rear was his wife, the love of his life, and their eldest daughter.

He was wrong, before. The quiet of the morning wasn’t his favorite time of day. This was. The moments in time when he was surrounded by his lovely wife, his wonderful children, and his adored grandchildren. THIS was the best time.

He smiled at his wife as he wrapped his arms around the little ones.

“Absolutely we can catch some trout. Let’s get your lines in the water!”

And there was silence.