Musings Of My Life: Fishing In The Deep South

Fishing.....That conjures up so many happy memories for people, but not for me. I come from a family of fishermen. My GrandDaddy Dewey Morris, Daddy, Mama, Aunts and Uncles. Well you get the idea. Our family loved to fish.

I did not think that fishing was a way of feeding six kids when I was little, but I now realize it was one of the many inventive ways that daddy had of keeping all his children fed, on very little money. Back then you could run a trot line in any creek and no one said a word about it. Daddy ran one down the road and around a curve or two on Morristown Road in the Holly Mill Creek. There were lots of Mills where we grew up and I guess at one time there was a booming business when you needed a place to get your cornmeal ground or feed for your livestock. People haven't done that for the last 100 years but in Granddaddy Peacock's day, that was the way it was done.

Daddy would go check his trot line and more often than not, he had fish on it. A trot line for those of you that have never seen one run is, a long piece of fishing line with several "drops" on it. These little drops or pieces of fishing line had hooks added and each one was baited. Then you would throw or tie it from one side of the creek to the other using a tree or just let it free float and tie one end to a strong tree, because if you had a good day, there was a mess of fish on there. Now if you were lucky enough to have a boat, you could tie off the line to where the oar sat and that was strong enough to keep your fish from pulling the whole line away while you were elsewhere.

The other way that Daddy and all them fished was with a cane pole. Daddy would cut them himself or buy them. Lots of times, people just gave them away in favor of them new fangled ones that had a rod and reel, but daddy was an ole timey fisherman when I was growing up and he had a pile of cane poles over the rafters on the front porch. All different sizes in length and diameter, just in case one of the grandkids wanted to go with him.

Most of the time, we swam while Daddy fished and this Sunday was no different from many others, but on this day daddy decided he would give me a try at fishing. I was 8 and I had been asking cause he took Donna fishing and Ernest fishing but not me. That was a big deal because I was challenging as a kid. I talked a lot. I know that is hard to believe; but silence was not one of my strong suits.lol

This time with daddy was like gold because there was never alone time with Daddy, unless you were getting whipped. The rest of the time there were kids everywhere and in those days of children being seen and not heard, alone time was precious and this was my chance.

The kids were all swimming in Morris Creek as we called it and Moores Creek as it is properly named. It is down from Coon Hill where my Great Grandparents Ervin and Charlotte McCurdy Morris and my 2nd Great Grandparents William M "Bud" and Matilda Jane Spears Morris lived so I think that is why we always called it Morris Creek.

Daddy and I took off down the bank to get away from the splashing and noise. We had grubbed worms that morning and had a nice little bucket of them that Daddy was toting and I was lollygagging behind him as I often did.

Daddy found his spot and settled down on the side of the bank and I sat down beside him. He pulled a big ole earthworm out and handed it to me to bait my hook. You have to understand that I did not like killing things, mostly, unless it was a snake or roach or spider but a little wiggly worm was like a play thing and I hated to run that hook through it. Daddy showed me how to put the hook through it several times and wind it around so that the juices are on the outside and the worm is still wiggling and we were off. He tossed his line in and I tossed my line in and we sat and we sat and we sat.

In no particular order I saw a bird and remarked on it. Daddy said, "ssshush lil ole gal, you're gonna scare the fish. Next came a butterfly and I said, "ain't that purty, Daddy?" He said "Sshush lil ole gal or I am going to send you to the truck." I tried. I really did but I saw a beautiful purple flower on a blade of grass and I could not help but say how pretty it was and daddy just looked at me and said, " go to the truck lil ole gal." There was no arguing with daddy so I pulled in my pole and trudged off to the truck with my head hung low.

I had messed up my time with daddy and I was so sad. I climbed into the truck with the windows rolled up because of yellow flies and horse flies and sat there for what seemed a really long time. I watched the other kids swimming off the old gnarled tree, hanging upside down on the rope swing in the tree and wishing I had just gone swimming. It wasn't quite summer so it was warm, but not so warm that I was in danger in the truck. Although parents didn't think about things like that back then. Of course we weren't usually in the cab. We were on the back standing up, hanging onto the lip of the cab with the wind whipping our long hair around our head.

Often times Daddy would take us to the Escambia River. Daddy owned 120 acres that was almost all the way to that big river but his property line was a little ways from the bank. We fished and ate down there quite a lot. I remember slung coffee, catfish and hush puppies, and days swimming in that river. You were not able to see through that water it was so muddy and dirty once you stepped in but we didn't care. We were swimming. Daddy went down the bank to fish near the bridge while we played. Our cousin Vivian came with us sometimes if Ernest was with us and we were fearless children. We were having fun one day and along comes a big ole moccasin swimming toward us in the water. We got out on the bank, watched it swim on downstream and then got back in. I can't believe that we did that and I shudder at that now but we just didn't care or know any better and we did not have any real parental interaction to tell us different. We just roamed those 120 acres like it was our personal playground and thank God we survived.

Sometimes we didn't fish but went to Pensacola Bay to find Oysters. Oh lordy, Daddy and the boys loved oysters. Raw on the half shell with ketchup or on a cracker with ketchup on top. I tried one of them once and it tasted like I imagine liquid snot does, so that was my first and last time trying that. lol

While Daddy and the boys picked the oysters up out of the mud, Donna and I would walk out into the bay. You could walk for what seemed like a mile and you were only knee or waist deep. We splashed around in the water and a few times as we did this a couple of porpoises showed up and played with us. I think they were concerned that we were in trouble but no matter what brought them to us, it was magical to see them come and play.

I hope that kids today know the wonderful feeling of baiting a hook, hooking a fish, cleaning it and frying it up. It is sometimes hard work to fish for your supper but there is nothing like the taste of fresh fish cooked on a Coleman Stove with hushpuppies on the side.

Go fishing. It is worth anything you have to do to get there and it permeates into our spirits to create calm and quiet. Take your kids too and leave the phones at home, just like it used to be. They may protest at first, but when they get caught up in the magic of fishing, they will come around. Love to all, Kimmee

( All Photos courtesy of Donna Peacock, except the book one from the Alger Sullivan Book on Century and surrounding areas

Holly Mill Creek in the next two pics