holy

I ain’t sayin’ I’m like Jesus… But I got tired
like Him, an’ I got mixed up like Him,
an’ I went into the wilderness like Him, without campin’ stuff.
Nighttime I’d lay on my back an’ look up at the stars;
morning I’d see an’ watch the sun come up;
midday I’d look out from a hill at the rollin’ dry country;
evenin’ I’d foller the sun down. Sometimes, I’d pray like I
always done. On’y I couldn’t figure what I was
prayin’ to or for. There was the hills, an’ there was me,
an’ we wasn’t separate no more.
We was one thing. An’ that one thing was holy.

-- Jim Casy   Grapes of Wrath

[quote recently read on a blog i was pointed to named, "Fishing and Thinking"]

fractured self

[original art by shane oborn]

this is all of everything

last time i thought about it

i had at least four favorite memories

funneling into the valley

of my failing recollection.

what more could one ask for

than a handful of loved ones by his side?

where did it go,

days spent looking out the window?

wondering what life would bring

when i finally stepped out the door.

i can't hold onto all i've had

its too much for one to carry

but that doesn't mean i've given up

it just means i'm moving on

it just means life is moving on

back then i stepped into all sorts of things

today i just step into the river

life isn't any less confusing

but i'd say i'm less confused

as its all about what you're looking for

and sometimes about what you're not

but i'm sure i found what's worth holding on

and i'm holding on to what i've got

in this life we own nothing of value

for what we own is chaff in wind

and the things we'd want to own the most

are beyond such recklessness

what we've got is all around us

and there's no sense looking back

or forward, beneath, or the next street over

that's all just petty cash

death.

its around every corner.

we walk the streets with our purses

on one shoulder and our messenger bags

on another.

perhaps our cell phones rang just in time

to turn our glance from yet another

chance to wake up from this intentional

choice to glance away together.

and its here.

and its there.

and i know it.

and i have awoken.

and i know i'm falling asleep. someday.

and i began this way.

and i don't have to remain here.

and so i chose not to.

and so i choose not to.

because the moments i'll spend awake now

will be my finest.

they will be my finest, and are, and have been.

already.

and i'm not as distracted.

and i'm not as confused.

because i get it.

and i hold on now.

and i hold on gently and with grace and with tears.

and i hold on with my hands open

because i understand its not mine

and i do not own what i love.

and this, this is love.

and this, this is all of everything.

just breathe

dedicated to my wife and family.....

...I’m a lucky man to count on both hands
The ones I love..

Some folks just have one,
Others they got none..

Stay with me,..
Let’s just breathe....

slow down

....sometimes.... its out your back window....

From Winter (2010)

an omen

this last summer i began taking my first practical steps towards realizing a personal dream i've had for just over a decade: to become a fly fisherman. this goal, this admittedly ambiguous horizon, is at least in part a philosophical one (as i imagine it to be for anyone in similar waders). what does it mean to "become a fly fisherman"? at what point does one "become" a fly fisherman?

is it when the rod is purchased? or perhaps when your wading boots are tightened? is it the first time you enter the stream with trout on your mind?

the questions could go on forever. and if i know anything about myself.... they will. and if i know anything else about myself, its that in the process of asking myself the myriad of questions that i undoubtedly will, i'll likely frustrate any number who are unfortunate enough to be in the wake of my questions as they're asked, and who see the "common sense" answer to a rather "common sense" question.

sigh.

and so the circle of life continues.

but i don't want to get distracted. this particular reflection happens to be about another aspect to the goal of "becoming a fly fisherman." and that's the practical side to this goal. now, i can (and will) certainly make this element to the goal as complicated as it shouldn't be. but once again, i'll save those particular intricacies for some distant late night insomnia coupled with a plate of brownies and vanilla bean ice cream, or perhaps for one of those illuminative moments that can occur while sitting on the throne. (which reminds me, excuse me for one minute...)

here's some good advice, and you can take this to the bank: never talk with your mouth full, never eat with your stomach full, and never write with your bladder full. these are just simple truths that will help you in general. (but rarely in particular)

where was i?

oh yeah, "becoming a fly fisherman."

anyway, this winter i have been graced with my first fly fishing experience in freezing temperatures. now if i'm honest, no, it was not freezing. not technically. everyone knows that freezing occurs at 32 degrees (water that is) (at sea level anyway) (and depending on degree of salinity) (and i don't know what i'm talking about)

it was actually 34 degrees last saturday (the day i went winter fly fishing). but it rained three-quarters of the day, and was slightly windy, so it felt like it was freezing. i love minnesota. the change of seasons. the water all around us. the very green forests. the diversity of our metropolitan cities. the vikin... errr..... the competitive spirit embedded in the souls of its people. (i made that last one up, it sounded documentary-ish) (but this is not a documentary, so what did i care?) (i have no idea) (in case that wasn't implied)

but yes... its' rivers. we're surrounded. its a blessing. i've traveled to many foreign countries in the world, and one thing that almost always strikes me about the things we so easily take for granted here, is how we fail to grasp how precious our clean water is. so many people in the world would literally (and DO literally) give their life for something as simple as water.

in minnesota, its abundant. i am grateful for its existence. and i'd like to think i am conscientious about it. when i step into a fresh water stream, i think about it almost every time. it humbles me.

even in 34 degree air temperatures, 26 degree wind chill, and a light to moderate rain i can be thankful for the stream i am stepping into. thankful for the life it sustains and thankful that i can share in that life.

making my way down to hay creek, just outside red wing, was a drive filled with anticipation and a child-like excitement. i could not wait to walk a river in the dead of winter for the first time in my life. and when i arrived and stepped out into the chilled but humid winter air, i'll never forget the encompassing quiet interrupted only by the sounds of birds who apparently share my love for the winter outdoors as well.

and soon.... the sound of the water. it could have been deafening for all i know, because as i post-holed my way to the modest banks of hay creek, my audible world was focused solely on the lovely sound of fresh winter-chilled water which was patiently spilling its way to the great mississippi.

it didn't take me long to find an inviting hole, just a couple dozen yards from the very bridge i had previously crossed not 20 minutes ago. and as much as i'd like to create some literative drama reminiscent of the better fly fishing blogs out there when it comes to explaining how i happened upon my first trout of the year, the truth is that on my second cast of the year (using my gorgeous new sage flight three weight rod) i felt a resistance on the end of my rod that only a fly fisherman can appreciate to its fullest. the lively, sporadic bounce in my tip told me i wasn't dealing with a snag (which is what i was expecting). suddenly, and once again, i was back to experiencing the freezing of time which has accompanied many of the trout i have pulled in to date.

all fades.... and its just you and the fish. the whole thing lasted perhaps 30 seconds today, but time means little in this moment. your first signs are touch, soon sight follows as the trout's colorful skin reflects sunlight through the water as its flight path ebbs and flows, followed by an explosion at the surface as he tries one of his numerous instinctual strategies to break free from the invisible hand guiding him to shore.

i wasn't sure if i'd catch anything my first time out winter fly fishing. my mentor had gone out two weeks prior and caught only two fish on the same stretch of water. admittedly, every day is its own, and the river is never the same twice, but i have yet to come close to catching as many fish as he when we go out together, so i thought my chances were perhaps small, especially without his help that day. so to catch a beautiful "brookie" (image below) within 10 minutes of entering the stream was a gift (in my mind). perhaps (i hope) an omen for the rest of the year.

i ended up not catching another that afternoon. this was alright with me. i thoroughly enjoyed my afternoon in the winter rain. i had a couple more chances, but i think its safe to say my inexperience blew those opportunities. this just means i need many more winter trips to come....

i have little idea where i was going with all of this. i know i started out entertaining the thought, what does it mean to "become a fly fisherman"? at this point, i honestly don't have anything real illuminative, nor intelligent with which to flavor this inquiry. but i do think its fair to say that however in the end its answered by the fly fishing gods and greats, it must at least involve fly fishing.

and i couldn't have been more thrilled to do just that on hay creek last saturday.

may another day on the stream come soon.....

From First Winter Fly Fishing