There isn't a fishing season. Oh, there may be certain times you can catch certain fish, but anytime and all the time is fishing season. And we live in a fishing part of the country. Not only flat-out fun, but an important part of the economy.

Walleye, Northern Pike, Perch, Trout. Whatever it might be, whatever part of the area your favorite spot is, it means a lot to the local economy. It means money and it means jobs.

But there's more to fishing than that.

It's been quite a bunch of years ago now. I was just a kid, and he was dad.

Dad loved to fish, I mean loved it! No, he didn't have a boat and he didn't have the latest gadgets and gizmos. It was pretty much rod and reel, bait (half the fun was finding those night crawlers), and a tackle box filled with this-and-that.

For us it might be Lake Shetek, Lake Sarah, Current Lake or maybe just a stock dam not far away at all. It didn't matter, not really, 'cause we were fishin', my brother, my dad and me.

A lot of the time it would be Bullheads. I know, I know, not exactly a favorite among most anglers, but when we'd bring home a mess of Bullheads, clean them (OK, dad would clean them) and mom would fry them up? Yessir, that was livin'.

But now, all these many years later and with dad and mom gone, I look back and realize it wasn't about rods and reels, tackle boxes and bullheads.

It could just as well have been baseball. Or hunting. Or tennis or a board game. Heck, it might as well have been just a walk down an old dusty gravel road. I guess, on some level, fishing wasn't about fishing at all. At least not the kind of fishing we did, my dad, my brother and me.

I think it was more about...time.

Time and memories. I think that's what those fishing trips were all about.

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