What a lot of people may not know or remember about my family’s land is that way back in the day, my great-grandfather had a catfish hatchery. Every time we go to the old rock house, my dad will point out where they used to keep the minnows and baby catfish. Where they would process the fish if people wanted. It’s a cool bit of family history. The two large ponds that my great-grandfather built for the catfish are still there. But it’s debatable as to whether there are still catfish and how many. However, growing up, my dad was determined that not only were there still catfish, but he would catch on
Now, these ponds had an abundance of fish. Papa Rex would spend maybe an hour or two out fishing and catch about 20 to 30 bass. We would do several fish fries throughout the summer simply because we caught so many.
But no catfish. So, Dad got creative. He started putting trot lines out, thinking surely this would catch an elusive catfish, proving to everyone once and for all that they were still in the pond. Unfortunately, for most of that summer, all they caught were frogs (Mom fried up a lot of frog legs that year).
Until one day. I can’t remember how old I was, but I’m pretty sure I was still in junior high, so maybe 13 or 14. Trey was still very much a toddler. I believe I was sitting out on the back deck reading because Mom said I needed to spend more time outdoors. (This was my compromise.) Dad had taken the rowboat out into the pond to check his trot lines, and Mom and Trey had gone out with him. I have no idea what my sister Meg was doing, but I’m fairly certain she was home as well.
It was a pretty calm summer day at that point.
Until it wasn’t. I’m lying there, reading my book, when I hear shouts and splashing. I put my book down and walk to the edge of the deck. Mom is now standing in the rowboat, Trey in her arms, as the boat frantically dips from side to side. Her hair is starting to fall out of the ponytail she always wore. Dad is on the other side of the boat, crouched down. And something is flipping around in the middle between them. Above it all, I hear Mom shrieking, “KILL IT, PETE! KILL IT!”
Now, I can’t see what is intheboatfrommyvantage point. And the next part, I had to confirm with Dad because I wasn’t sure if I made it up. But I see Dad reach for something and lift it in the air.
A hammer. Why my father had a hammer in the boat, I don’t know. Or maybe this didn’t happen on the boat. Perhaps it was on land, and my memory has decided to keep what makes for a better story. I’m sure Dad will correct me if I got this part wrong. (But you have to admit that it does make for a better story if it was in the boat.)
I watch as Mom continues to scream, the boat continues to sway wildly, and DadprotectsMomandTrey from whatever was in the boat with a hammer. Once all is calm, Dad gets them back to shore and walks up to the house, grinning ear to ear.
In his hand is a 10-pound catfish.
I guess he was right after all.