Fishing

It is unfortunate that the trout stream pictured here, located less than one mile from my home, contained only teeny little fish too small to bring home on a stringer. At least it did yesterday. Then again, we were fishing in the middle of the day. Only the babies will bite then as a rule. Perhaps if I get some gumption and go in the early morning or in the late afternoon/evening, I might have better luck.

Where is Christine Lavin when I need her?

We had started the expedition with grand plans to hike the carriage road from the Jordan Pond House down to the cobblestone bridge and fish Jordan Stream back up to where we had begun, but that did not work out as planned. See, we set out at noon on the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend and headed to the parking lot of the most popular lunch place for tourists on MDI, the Jordan Pond House. There were cars everywhere. People everywhere. Dogs and bikes everywhere. Parked everywhere, and wandering in traffic. When I informed my beloved of my plans to physically and quite violently assault the first person who asked "going fishing?" as we walked into the woods with fishing poles, she suggested we find a less hectic place to fish.

What was I thinking? Jordan Pond House? Memorial Day Weekend? Right.

So instead, we headed into this little brook. It is the stuff of picture post cards, with each turn in the stream offering more perfection. No fish, mind you, but perfect scenery. There were even two Plein Aire painters doing their thing on a sand bar near the beginning of our hike. They seemed a little put out that we had come to fish in their spot, but I was a little put out that they were painting in my brook. I live here, so in my mind at least, I won. We played through and headed downstream.

We hiked and bushwhacked and fished our way downstream for three hours, catching nothing bigger than four inches long. The black flies were moderately aggressive, but at around 3 p.m., the mosquitoes came out. From where, I do not know, but they announced themselves in no uncertain terms. Today I am covered with little swollen welts that itch like mad. I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and long pants, so the bites are confined mostly to my face and neck and to the backs of my hands and my wrists. The DEET, of course, was at home in the kitchen. Again, what was I thinking?

Today we are laying low. L awoke with a migraine or something like it, so she had done the reasonable thing and gone back to bed. The pooch has been up, walked, fed, and has retired to her bed near the window to sleep through guard duty. I am the lone soul awake and stirring in the house. I think I shall bake off a lemon pie and prepare this evening's supper. We are having a Memorial Day Cookout, but with a Mediterranean twist. The burgers will be lamb burgers stuffed with herbed goat cheese. They will be served on pita bread and topped with a yogurt-dill dressing. We will also have tabouleh salad, and maybe pita chips and hummus if I get ambitious. The pie will make a nice, light, summery dessert after the cookout, and the lemon flavor will compliment the menu nicely. Perhaps there will be pictures. We'll see.