Page 49

Memory Swims the Tuckahoe by Bill Peak

This morning I lost the last of Dad’s lures. I didn’t think of it that way at the time. When I cut the line, I said good-bye to a favorite plug, nothing more. It was only after the fish had slipped back into the water, turned pale and vanished into the green depths, that I realized the lure still attached to its jaw was the

last of those I’d inherited from my father. It was a plug he must have cared for and used, taken off and put on, who knows how many times. I’m not really much of a fisherman. Dad was. Dad was a great fisherman. The last photograph we have of him before Alzheimer’s robbed his looks of intelli-

Fishing was one of Dad’s favorite pastimes. 47

Tidewater Times September 2011  

September 2011 Tidewater Times

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