Back from Bennett Springs

I'm home from a three-day stint to Bennett Springs to see my dad, who recently moved to a small cabin there. Evidently, we brought the sunshine with us; we had three beautiful days of fishing, touring, "roughing" it and just hanging out. My maternal grandma and aunt happened to be in the area visiting family--my mom was actually born in Long Lane, MO, which is, well, a long lane and not much else, south of Bennett Springs a bit. So, I took the opportunity to visit a few graveyards that I wouldn't be able to find on my own. I called and met Grandma and Dorothy after my first round of fishing, which in itself is a story!

Our first excursion was to the Mennonite community. So this photo of a chicken is important why, you might ask? Well, this chicken is called a Polish Chicken--notice the legs are thick and full of feathers--not like a "normal" chicken. As we were pulling into the Mennonite store, I saw these little marvels running amuck. My dad and I both yelled, "Polish Chickens!" Jake was like, "So?"
I had one of these chickens when I was growing up. Yep, a yellow Polish Chicken was my favorite little pet one summer. I loved it. I carried it around, petted it, talked to it. The whole shebang. My dad use to say, "There goes my little Pollock carrying her Pollock chicken!" Then, the neighbor's dogs killed it, and I was devastated. When I try to explain to people my love of this chicken two things occur. One, they can't believe I had a chicken as a pet and then they don't believe that there is anything like a "Polish" chicken. Yes, now you know. There is.

After visiting the Mennonites we walked around Bennett Springs and got things ready for Wednesday. Back at my dad's cabin, then, we started a fire, cooked out and then ate marshmallows--of course! Notice the very burnt double-marshmallow gooey mess next to my head. Just moments later....mmmm...into my tummy, which, by the way, is itself turning into a marshmallow faster each day I inch closer to 40!

After a not-so-relaxing sleep on army cots (my dad has a very small cabin 16X24, and it has all amenities except for beds and bathroom. So we sleep on cots and walk about 60 feet to a bathroom. You have to be willing to rough it!), we went fishing. I love fishing. This was my first time fly , though. Well, I didn't actually use a fly rod, but I did use a fly lure, and I did wear the waders and I did get in to the water.

Now, the waders are not very flattering on a female's body, but no biggie, they'll keep me dry, right? They DID, too, until I misstepped and stumbled into the spring and its rather swift current, and well, I filled my waders with 58 degree water. Not to worry. I had fished for about 2 hours--dry--by that time, and was able to fish for another 45 minutes or so before I began to feel my feet slowly go numb!

Unfortunately, we didn't catch any fish. If you ask Jake that's just fine with him. He loves to fish, and we had the best time hanging out in the water, but he hates to kill things (even the smallest of spiders get carted out the front door rather than ending up on the bottom of his shoe), so he was glad we weren't faced with having to skin the fish. My dad, on the other hand, would have easily chopped off its head and skinned it while it tried to get away. I am a combination of both. As a pesci-vegetarian, I don't eat red meat--ever, and rarely eat fish and only on the smallest of occasions eat chicken, but I do believe that if you catch your own fish you can eat it, and I would have, though, had difficulty killing it. I'd have left that up to my dad.

But, catching fish was not the purpose. Getting to see my dad, appreciating nature a bit, spending time without telephones, televisions, radios, etc. is always heavenly!