The mid-August sunrise splashed across the front grass, the morning dew glistening for miles. The slip ‘n slide was still unfurled from the day before, like a mighty yellow river trailing down to the lake. It was a pond, really, but “lake” made it sound much bigger, and to us, that lake was larger than life.

Most days on Butternut Road, I rose with the sun. Knowing even then that summer wouldn’t last forever, I’d skip down the stairs to a dark and quiet kitchen and peek out on the day that lie ahead. A day no doubt filled with swimming and diving and laughter. But no one was allowed in the lake without an adult, and at this hour, the swimming towels would still be damp on the line anyhow, so I’d make some dough balls from leftover bread, grab a rod from behind the dining room door, and race on down to the water alone.

The lake held a massive elusive goldfish, and I’d perch myself at the edge of the old wooden diving board to cast my line in its direction.  

“Breakfast time,” I’d sing, as my makeshift bait sunk and sent ripples to the surface of the cold morning water. “Come and get it!”

Fishing at the 'lake'

I’m not sure why I loved fishing so much in those days. I rarely caught anything, and if I did, I’d toss it right back in. But fishing slowed everything down, made the summer last just a little longer; like a snapshot that never moved, never changed.

For a solid ten minutes, I sat in silence but for the birds or the occasional plane flying north to Buffalo and beyond. Nothing was biting. Grandma Rose would soon be firing up the mower in the distance, doing her best to avoid the slip ‘n slide, as dewy grass clung to the wheels. Shortly after, that same grass would stick to the heels of everyone racing down to the lake, and my fishing hour would be disrupted by inner tubes and cannonballs and everyone vying for Aunt Rosie’s “perfect 10” off the diving board.

So this was it. I was down to my last dough ball. I was Nolan Ryan winding up a fastball. “Step back, swing, and release,” I thought, Penny’s voice always in my ear.

Step back.

Swing.

And release.

The little dough ball launched into the air and landed exactly where I wanted it.

The mower’s engine stirred. “Take a bite, boys,” I whispered and jiggled the line a bit.

The older boys were now outside, kicking around something I couldn’t quite make out, but when I squinted, I could see Chris poised with the hose near the start of the slip ‘n slide.

Sigh, another day without a fish.

But then– Something inched me forward. Then again! I gripped the rod with both hands and held my ground. Steady…Steady…I cranked the handle towards me as fast as I could, closing my eyes as if sight itself could slow me down.

And then…on the end of my line… the biggest fish I ever saw, let alone caught! I shouted for the older boys, waved an arm wildly like the old flag on the front lawn.

“Chris! Scott! Derek! Mike!”

No one was seeing this! It fought the end of my line, the hook barely hanging on. This thing had to be at least 12 inches long.

“The bucket,” I thought, and gripped the beast’s scaley flesh with both my hands, the rod dragging behind us all the way to where the bucket was. We fought a few seconds more before, at last, I slipped the hook from its lips and into the bucket it splashed. My sigh of relief was almost as big as the fish itself.

I darted up the hill, collecting wet grass between my toes. “Guys,” I panted, “You gotta see this fish!” The boys looked at one another with a smirk, but they’d see! And my name would go down in farm history.

We raced down to the lake, Chris opting for the slip ‘n slide, and barreled toward the bucket.

Chris mastering the slip & slide

I so badly wanted to say, “I told you so!” But when we peered over the bucket–the fish was gone. I looked to the diving board, the grass, the water. No sign of it. Like it never even happened. I was crushed. But the boys didn’t skip a beat. “Last one to the mailbox is a rotten egg!” Scott hollered, and off they went.

I lay at the edge of the diving board, back to where this whole day started, and sulked. The sun was growing hot in the sky and glistening off the lake. I saw my grandma in the distance riding the mower and the boys running toward the road. I saw the old flag waving on the front lawn and linens drying on the line. You couldn’t stay sad here for long. And standing up to take my first dive of the day, I saw it—the biggest fish I’d ever caught—swimming on home.

Julie contemplating the one that got away

When I tell stories from those summer days on the farm, they seem too good to be true, even to me. And it’s not lost on me that these memories are a lot like that fish, just another tall tale, another fleeting sunrise on the front lawn that you must get up early to believe.

And that’s okay.

Because I was there.

I saw it.

And “I told you so.”