I am not much of a fisherman. I mean, I can bait a hook, set an ice fishing trap, even prep a fish that I might want to eat, assuming I catch one… but, yeah, it isn’t really my thing.

I love the idea of it, though. If you look at where our ancient ancestors lived, it was on the water. The majestic vision of the mammoth hunter is inspiring, but most of the “hunting” performed by early hunter gatherers was actually fishing.

As a fishing enthusiast told me the other day, roasted trout and gathered wild leaks were probably the go-to meal of our fore-parents. Makes sense. 

My dad loved to fish. And it was his luck that the old farmhouse at Sleepy Hollow included a small brook running behind it. Frohock Brook, running in the shadow of Frohock Mountain, until it reaches the sea in between what are now the Whale’s Tooth and Lobster Pound restaurants….

The Old Man used to head into the woods with a pole and bunch of worms dug out of the garden, and return with a pile of brook trout, between 6 and 10 inches, which my mom would prep and fry with butter and cracker crumbs. Delicious.

So Saturday afternoon, I went into the lower barn and found the Old Man’s fishing pole and his fishing bag, covered in dust.

The bag, a “Tucker Bag” acquired by him on a trip to Australia, was still packed with extra hooks and reels and the old tin bait case. After a liberal application of Off Deep Woods to keep the ticks at bay, I descended through the woods to Frohock Brook.

Unlike many streams in the area, the Frohock runs year-round. And this time of year it is rather vigorous. I made my way along the banks, dipping my pole in at likely places. I remember the Old Man telling me the trout like the overhangs, the deep pools.

This is the magical time of year before the black flies and mosquitoes wake up, and I was able to just appreciate the silence of the forest, broken only by a singing bird or a chattering red squirrel. Deer droppings were ubiquitous, but I didn’t see any of our long legged, garden raiding friends….

Yeah, not a nibble. I’m sure those brookies were in there; again, I am not much of a fisherman.

But, for me, exploring this section of wood, a place I knew well 40 years ago, was worth it. I even found myself remembering parts of the brook, small falls where I sent toy soldiers to their doom in homemade boats, the water bugs, the banks of clay. 

Deciding it was time to head back up toward Beach Road, I rediscovering the meadow where, 40 years ago, my dad used to pasture our dairy cow. The forest has almost reclaimed it, but grass still grows there, and from the droppings, the deer appreciate the place.

So no little trout to fry in the pan, but I returned emotionally refreshed, and feeling connected to my late father. This seems worth it.

Be Kind

My mom relayed a conversation she had recently. A local told her of the flight from Hell, following a lovely vacation. Everything went wrong – missed flights, lost luggage, a night in the airport. Through it all, the storyteller expressed empathy for those who she interacted with, the hotel clerks, the ticket counter workers. As frustrating as things were, she maintained her cool, and assured them it was not their fault. Of course, the woman telling my mom her story works with the public in this town every day.

She knows what it is like to be screamed at for things far beyond her personal control. And, as a result, had nothing but understanding for those who she faced during her own struggle.

How many of us work every day with the public? How many of us know how it feels to be on the receiving end of anger that we do not deserve? Or to have people act as if our time is unimportant to them?

The clerk at your local convenience store, the receptionist at the dental office, your hairdresser, your garage guy…. Be kind people. We are all just trying to navigate the world, and for those of us running our own businesses, time literally is money…

Condolences

Sympathy to the family of Barbara Ann Putnam, a resident of the Beach. After a life well lived, I’m glad she found her way here.

Enjoy the Spring, Lincolnville. Remember that this rain is helping everything green up nicely. Be nice, and reach out to me at ceobrien246@gmail.com