He passed in’83. I think of him when fishing season opens each year.
W ith gentle nudges
dad’s hushed deep voice
urges me from the cocoon
of my toasty morning covers
“wake up Bobby”
my childhood moniker
“I’m gonna make us breakfast
then those fish better beware”
my old man’s breakfasts were amazing
so I was already salivating
peeking from under the covers
I see my father’s eyes
warm and tender
coaxing me out of bed
but I slide back under the warmth
dad was burly strong
but gentle as a lake breeze
I can hear muffled footsteps
the creak of an iron door
then a wooden — thunk … thunk
fresh kindling being loaded
into the stove’s fire chamber
then the scuffing of forged ore
as a heavy iron poker
probes the iron fire chamber
coaxing a glowing ember bed
to ignite the fresh logs
my daddy’s hands lovingly at work
nimble… and so capable
“this is gonna catch quickly
start gettin’ up son
sure hope you’re hungry”
staggered, softly percusssive
phuft phuft — phufts
announce lengths of virgin fuel
bursting to crackling flame
I poke my eager head back out
into the damp morning chill
of Ontario semi-darkness
as the big black stove
groans to full life
a welcomed burgeoning heat
begins permeating the cabin
the soft glow and muffled hiss
of dad’s Coleman lantern
clutches at the darkness
as dad clunks and shuffles
the bulky iron skillets
atop the rapidly heating stove
“breakfast is coming son”
dad proclaims
a smile in his voice
“Canadian bacon, cakes ‘n eggs”
his statement accompanied
by the sizzle and aroma
of strips crisping in the pan
hungry — I finally slide from bed
excited and shivering
imagining this day of fishing
that lies ahead
slipping on my robe
I go to the window
where the tin bowl
of kettle-warmed water
rests on a small table
waiting for me to soap
my morning face and hands
through the cabin window
I still see a myriad of stars
in the clear northern heavens
above our wilderness island
small waves lap at our stone shore
occasionally knocking our boat
laden with our fishing gear
against our weathered wooden dock
I see the Espanola sky
just beginning to lighten
and hear the pre-dawn loons
ending their nightly serenade
calling out across the misty lake
rippling in the soft early AM breeze
as I stand washing up
I continue to reflect
the love and respect of wilderness
what a beautiful gift he gave
loving father to son
how lucky I am to be here
fishing with my father
this amazing man
who adopted me
saved me
at that moment
I’m snapped from my reverie
by his kind voice…
“breakfast is ready”
*
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry OLN at: dVerse
”Miss you everyday Dad — forever my hero”
Be it with your son or daughter, this is what fishing really is…
A sight and sound that I cherish…
I can really feel the cabin starting to heat up as the fire is being started, I would also stay until breakfast was ready.
That cabin was always chilled in the early morning, even in Summer. That big old black iron stove eould heat it pretty good, once it got blazin’… 🙂
Rob, what fantastically detailed memories of your dad, the cold morning, hearty breakfast and anticipation for day of fishing! My dad took us fishing too…wonderful times 🙂
Dear to my heart, always Lynn… 🙂
wow. that is stunning. written with love.
Thank you so much Rog… 🙂
Rob, this was such a heartwarming write. Thank you for a peek into your childhood and sharing such beautiful memories. ??
Thank you so much Punam — and, you are very welcome friend… 🙂
This was so engaging with all the sensory details but it is the thread of gratitude, admiration and love running through this that is so poignant, so special. I have to ask….your cabin was somewhere in Ontario?
My parents co-owned the little island that the log cabin was on, with a Canadian couple, Aldo and Amelia DiSante. The cabin was built primarily with trees felled on the mainland, then bundled and float-towed by motor boat across the lake to the island. Closest little town was Espanola Ontario Mish. It was a little town 65 years ago. Don’t know how big it might be now? It took several hours of driving from Espanola, over poorly traveled gravel roads to a little launch and supply store called Lehman’s Landing — then 2-1/2 hours by boat through four chain lakes, the final pass-through channel so narrow we had to idle the boat, avoiding huge underwater boulders, using the oars to pole away from the solid rock sides. I was told that 20 years or so ago they finished a road that now allows you to put your boat in the lake right across from what was our little wilderness island.
Rob, your dad was an angel in disguise. What a legacy he left you: kindness and a love of nature.
He truly was Lisa. A big, burly, bear-strong, plain-spoken, 8th-grade-educated, worldly-wise angel. He was honest and loyal as any man I have ever known — with a heart of pure gold. He was also a self-taught mechanical and construction genius. He was my hero.
This is such a powerful memory brought to life and I love the line describing him as – ‘gentle as a lake breeze’ ????
Thank you AJ… 🙂