Fryin' That Fish !

“Your Daddy caught some fish this morning and he’s fixin’ to fry ‘em.  Why don’t you all come over for supper?”

Mother didn’t have to ask us twice.  She was the Queen of Her Kitchen, but my Daddy was the King of Fish Frying. I can still smell the fish frying in that big, deep, black skillet.  First Daddy put the piece of fish in buttermilk, then in corn meal, and then he salted and peppered it. The grease had to be just the right temperature before he dropped in the first piece. Then onion slices would be dropped in with the fish. Mother would put the cornbread in a cornpone pan and stick it in the oven.  Then, she would wash the green onions from their garden. Daddy peeled the potatoes and cut them in long, thick slices. When the fish floated to the top, Daddy knew it was done so he removed it to a platter.  Then the potatoes where dropped in and fried in the same grease. When everything was done, Mother placed it on the green and gray chrome kitchen table and we sat down to eat. I can still see Daddy picking out the fish bones before laying the fish on his granddaughter’s plates.

“I think I got all the bones out but chew it very carefully, girls, and be sure there aren’t still some bones in there.” He’d say.

 Mother always made iced tea in a glass pitcher. Ice cubes from the metal ice trays were placed in glasses. Daddy liked lemon slices. He would squeeze some on his fish and then drop the remainder of the slice in his sugared ice tea. After returning thanks, we grabbed a dish towel for a napkin and began to enjoy the best fish in the land!

I miss the smell of Daddy’s fish frying in our old kitchen in my childhood home.

“What ‘cha doin’ in there, Daddy?” I approached Daddy’s garage and looked in.

“Well, Sis, I’m just fixin’ this thing for your Mother.”  He would usually answer from his work bench on the south side of his garage.

I miss the smell of the garage and Daddy’s cluttered work bench and I miss hearing him call me Sis.

After retiring from the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission after 28 years, Daddy filled his time puttering in his work shop. He enjoyed building little wooden things for the grandkids. He never wasted a scrap of wood or anything.

When I was sixteen, I walked into the kitchen, and looked out the window .

“What on earth is Daddy driving in here, Mother?”

“I have no idea.” She said as she looked out.

So, outside I ran as Daddy pulled up in this old green Studebaker pickup. He opened the door and climbed out.

“Where did you get that thing? I asked.

“Well, your Uncle Bill got it on a trade in down at the shop and I thought it might come in handy for me to drive out into the woods instead of the car.” Of course, the reason Daddy bought that old 1949 monster was so I would have something to drive to school on days it was raining or cold.

“You can drive it once in a while but I’ll be needin’ it quite a bit to work out of.” Daddy reminded me.

I think perhaps he drove it a couple of days and the rest of the time, that old pickup was mine.

I miss that old pickup and recently found it in a pasture behind my cousin’s house. It is rusted and not drivable but it does bring back memories.

My Daddy was always up for a good joke and he had such a dry sense of humor.

I miss that…………

Daddy spent a lot of his leisure time tying flies or carving out fishing plugs. Most of his equipment was homemade.  I can remember walking into the kitchen where Daddy would be tying flies made from deer hair or feathers, on the kitchen table.  He carved his plugs out in his workshop.  When it was the shape he wanted, he would carefully paint it to look like those that were store bought. Occasionally, he would print his name with paint, very tiny, somewhere on the plug. His fishing plugs hang in our den.

I miss seeing him making fishing plugs when I look at them hanging there.

Daddy use to love to watch wrestling on the television after we finally got our Motorola black and white t.v. He talked to the t.v. when things weren’t going the way he thought they should during a match.

I miss hearing him telling the referee how blind he was or telling one of the wrestlers to go home.

I miss a lot of things about my childhood home.

And, I miss my Daddy…………………