When I was 10, my parents acquired a 70-acre, mostly wooded slice of paradise. And while our prior residences had big yards and afforded me access to creeks and farm ponds full of bass, bluegill, tadpoles, and turtles, it wasn’t until we moved to what local old timers’ referred to as “Pikeville Holler” that I began to find myself in the forest. I was tempted to say “lose myself” there, but that’s not really what happened. When I would stuff a PB&J and a few fig newtons into a tattered backpack with my canvas creek shoes and trek into the shadow of the hardwoods, something simultaneously came alive and settled in me. There was no agenda, no goal. There was only to explore.
Fishing "The Nature Coast"
The day called for a little more wind than you’d want on the open water, so when I arrived at the spring to meet my guide, Captain Duane, he said our day out was gonna be what he referred to as “sporty.”
The nice thing about wade fishing a river is that, in those moments, there is nothing else. Naught but the kiss of the sun, the caress of the breeze, the song of the water. The…
Before you speak, let your words pass through three gates: Is it TRUE? Is it NECESSARY? Is it KIND?” On any given Sunday, that’s pretty sound advice. But in our current communication climate, it might…
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