Nesting Rocks

"You're making shishky, aren't you?" Papa inquired hopefully.
"I'm packing the poppyseed right now."

We looked forward to the crisp air and our limit of crappie and walley fall fishing in Minnesota.
Shorelines would be decorated with orange and yellow fall leaves. Fog would rise from the warm water. The lake might have already turned over. We packed coveralls, gloves, insulated boots, and hats.

Walleye and northerns like small frogs. One evening we came back to camp in the dark. Papa was driving and slammed on the brakes. Small frogs were all over the road. They wouldn't have been in such a hurry to get to the lake, if they'd known the fish were waiting for them. He was so excited he had me stay behind the wheel with the lights on, while he got out with his butterfly net and a Styrofoam bucket.

In the headlights, it was as if the frogs had personalities. One hopped across the road three times and into his net. Another hopped in and back out. One stayed in the same place and jumped up and down. All said and done he was happy as a little kid when he captured five. The refrigerator wouldn't accommodate the big bucket. Papa put the lid on and left it in the car overnight.

I was fixing breakfast when he came in wearing an 'I'm in trouble' look. They frogs had jumped up, moved the lid, and escaped. They were no where to be found in the car. We opened the car doors so they could escape. I was concerned one would pop out when I was driving. We watched two come out of the car. The rest were never found or discovered, thank God!

Our appetites were ravenous, and I loved to cook at camp. The cabin was so small it reminded us of a pumpkin shell with plumbing, but we had room to cook and eat hearty: fried crappie and walleye, homemade soups, breakfasts of bacon, scrambled eggs with potato dumpling slices and shishky.

Papa liked the potato dumpling dough rolled out in strips, then cut into one-inch squares and baked. The Bohemians called it "shishky." We ate it with melted butter, a little sugar and ground poppy seed. One trip we forgot the poppyseed grinder. Drifting near the shore, he spotted small rocks, reached in and grabbed two. I baked and he ground poppyseed between the nesting rocks. Another great trip. Another timeless memory.

2010 Red Convertible Travel Series

Post St. Patrick's Day Cabbage Math

After weeks of cold, rainy, gloomy weather reminiscent of Ireland, 3/17 was a sunny blessing. For me, no sun equals no sense of direction. JB points and says, "That's north." Nuh-huh, that's east. Nebraska's roads are generally square miles. Mississippi roads follow old Indian trails, creeks, and around stumps.

On the 17th, friends of JB's stopped by for a chat. Lawn chairs were pulled out and placed in the shade at the nose of the motorhome. They reminisced hunting and drag racing, while I pondered how to feed them with a single head of cabbage .

Hunger interrupted their tales; God knows they will never run out. Hilton said he had some fresh slab (2 lb.) crappie, hushpuppies and potatoes. Cecil had a fry daddy. Derek said coleslaw would taste good. I volunteered our cabbage. He offered tomatoes, onions and mayo. JB setup the table.

Cabbage + fish + friends = a tasty feast with leftovers.

©2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Frank does Repousse

...not to be confused with Debbie does Dallas.

At Lake Charles, Louisiana, we met Frank McDonald. Fun to be around, he has a great personality, quick deep laugh, twinkly blue eyes, can sell anything, and has lots of great stories. In the last few years he has taken up an ancient art form that dates from the Bronze Age (2800-1100 BC) called Repujado (Spanish) or Repousse (French). It is how the Statue of Liberty was made. See his website "The Art of Frank McDonald" for further explanation of the process, the types of finish, and the varieties of fish and other creations. He's good. The Loggerhead Turtle looks like it will eventually crawl off the wall.

He is making me a Black Crappie relief. They are what we fished for in Minnesota for over twenty years. One fall five of us fishing Lake Osakis found them suspended at twenty feet in forty foot of water. Our boat didn't have enough anchor rope necessitating a quick return to camp. The fish were still biting when we got back taking our bait fast as we could throw it. All of a sudden they stopped. Back at camp we poured them on the grass and counted out 76, one over our limit. We ate it.

From the pictures of Frank's work I will want to handle the finished project. It looks smooth, shiny, and won't stink or be slimy. Keep hammering, Frank, you'll get relief!

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Knees Worth Noticing

Cedar trees hold branches close
Willow trees hang loose
Cypress trees stand, observe
showing off their knees

At a dead lake outside of Pascagoula, Mississippi, we fished for crappie. Sitting on the bank and looking across, the "knees" took on personalities. (I swear I was sober.) "In medieval garb a mother stood between two short ones. The girl had curls of Spanish moss. A woman with a scalloped cape held a child. The tall one in back had a large cross on its chest - High Priestess? A dozen nondescript ones stood in the middle, foot soldiers, or wet-foot soldiers. Up out of the water you'd think their complexion would improve. It hasn't.

A jerk on my line revealed I'd caught a two-pound crappie on a dead minnow. There's no accounting for some tastes.

copyright 2005 Red Convertible Travel Series