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!
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.
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!
Dispatch - dispatch my newest artist book
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