The Derby

And, because I’m thinking about how much I love my dad today, I thought I’d share this (it will be a chapter in the next Farmer’s Wife book).

The Derby

The Dickinson clan is of the fishing sort, and because the Farmer’s Wife counts herself proud to be called a member, she attends their yearly gatherings, held each May.

This year all (and by all I mean grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, and the like) are to meet at the Canal which runs straight through Lockport and then onward, backwards and upwards to several other fishing holes equally varied as the grounds they now squat upon, but none-the-less, squat they do, for this particular gathering on this particular day is of the hallowed sort—the kind where traditions and memories are made and reviewed.

Let’s move closer, and you will see what I’m talking about.

“You call that big?” Papa asks. “That’s not half as big plus ten percent the size of the one I got last year—Do you remember?”

All nod. Of course they remember.

“Why it was as long as my arm!”

Mema moves closer. “Now, John.”

But “John” won’t be now-ed. He, as the winner of Last Year’s Dickinson Family Fishing Derby, has the right, no, the duty to remind all those present of every detail of his victory.

“But mine might be the biggest this year,” Gabriel says, silencing his Papa. What he’s said is true, and one of the strictest rules of this, the Derby. Once a new winner is crowned, he (or she) alone wears the crown. All other victories and years are removed from all minds and thoughts and mouths.

But not yet.

Papa may spew on for a few more hours, and sensing his time come to an end, spew he does, to any and all who will listen.

But what Gabriel has said is true. He’s caught the biggest fish this year, and the first. Now, all he has to do is catch the most and he will have it in the bag.

But wait. Do you see what I see? Is that the Farmer’s Wife? Yes, that’s her. What is she doing? She’s been baiting her line for forever so long now. Doesn’t she know there’s a competition at hand? What’s she thinking?

Ahhhh. Sneaky girl. She has her own can of worms. Ready and Waiting. But for what? Someone should tell her you can’t catch any fish if you don’t have a line in the water, no matter how many worms you may have.  

Gabriel takes his fish to Papa to be measured and placed into the cooler. Finishing that, he sets about getting a new worm on his hook—giving up his spot on the little rock that junts out into the Canal.

The Farmer’s Wife seizes the opportunity and sets herself on that rock. She casts in her line.

Gabriel turns. “Hey! That’s my spot! It’s where I’ve been all day!”

The Farmer’s wife smiles broadly. “Is it?”

Just then her line goes tight and the bobber dips a bit into the water. The Farmer’s Wife turns her attention back to the task at hand and reels in a fish—a fish at least twice the size of Gabriel’s biggest, and that ten percent that Papa was talking about.

Gabriel scowls, but waits. His Aunt can’t stay there forever. And when she comes down, Gabriel will Take His Hill Back.

But what Gabriel didn’t see, and what you already know, is that she has everything she needs right there. She’s got her worms. She’s got her basket already in the water, just waiting to hold all those fish. She’s got a book and a beverage. There’s no reason for her to move any time soon.

And she’s got her second line in the water before Gabriel can lift his jaw, you know, the one that fell open in that terrible, surprised fashion. Yup, that’s the one.

Aunt Willow and Aunt Emily come to see her fish. Sure enough, it’s a bit one.

“But—” Gabriel begins.

“Go find another spot,” his mother advises.

“Speaking of Spots,” Papa begins. “You never saw a spot like the one last year—”

“Got another one!” the Farmer’s Wife calls, yanking a twisting, squirming bass from the dark depths. “That makes two.”

Gabriel has three. If the Farmer’s Wife gets one more, and has the biggest, that will make her the Derby Winner.

Gabriel can’t have that. He scampers to the water’s edge and casts in his line. And waits. And waits.

“Got one,” the Farmer’s Wife calls out.

A deep growl sounds from Gabriel’s throat. Just then his line dips and tugs. He briskly turns his reel, lifting a fish from the water. Oh, and what a fish it is! Hardly bigger than the worm it swallowed; it clings to the line as it fixes its eye on Gabriel. Will he let it go?

Yes; rest assured he does. He cuts the fish free and lets it swim back in the water from which it came—but not before announcing that he has now caught four fish. Thereby winning two of the Derby’s three challenges. Because, try as she might, the Farmer’s Wife doesn’t catch another fish. Not even a very little one.