when I was a kid

When I was a kid I used to fish in Mill Pond in my hometown of Wareham, Massachusetts. The little side of the pond, as Route 28 sliced one part from another. The big side of the pond, north, went on maybe miles, and I fished there a lot, catching a few bigger fish, and sometimes ice skated on it in the winter. The smaller side, which slipped under a bridge and fed the very beginning of the Wareham River, was kind of snug against two buildings of the Tremont Nail factory, and the short street falling down from Main, crossing railroad tracks.

I loved fishing there, sitting on a wall on grass under a few trees, always with a bobber with nightcrawlers or maybe chubs, which had been tricked and snagged in Donnie Sisson’s homemade net – further down the river, in back of the A&P and Francona Oil. Sometimes I’d be fishing on the small side of Mill Pond with Donnie, a joy beyond words, fishing with your friend. More often I’d fish from that spot alone. One of the righteous aloneness’s in this pretty long life so far. Like sitting in a room alone. Running through the woods alone. Driving across the country alone. Not a lot of talking necessary. The stuff I’ve been musing about here in the Blog the last couple of days.

This Thursday, drinking coffee, a quote from Henry David Thoreau came to mind, typed here as best I remember it: “The life most men consider successful is but of one kind.” Which was surely fall-out from two years in a cabin alone at Walden Pond. Though it should be noted that Henry often left the woods and went to have meals with family and friends. Now you’re alone. Now you’re back amidst the world. Almost as if being a hermit is nothing other than a state of mind.