My First Trout and My Mom
I’m working on a piece about cooking trout for tomorrow or Tuesday. But today’s Mother’s Day, and that got me thinking about the first trout that I ever caught. My mother cooked it for me and my brother and our friend, Steve Mortz. It happened more than 50 years ago.
I was extraordinarily lucky and grew up within walking distance of two trout ponds. They were less than a mile from our house, across the county road, over a rolling pasture that usually had Holsteins, around the edge of a swampy creek bottom, and then up and over a railroad embankment.
I don’t know exactly how old I was, certainly less than 10. We all had cane poles then, with old-style cork bobbers and cotton line, and we carried a coffee can of worms that we had dug in the heavy loam behind our house.
We fished the larger pond of the two ponds. It had a dock. We basically just sat on the dock and watched our red and yellow bobbers and talked. (more…)