I Come From a Family of Fishermen

I've wanted to fish all summer long, and it seemed there was a reason this feeling consumed me. I come from a family of fishermen, says my Mom, and so it is with thoughts of my Grandpa fishing the rivers of northern California's Shasta county, with a bond so strong and a connection everlasting, that another member of those fishermen was dying.

I learned in July that my Uncle Jimmy had terminal cancer, and by Saturday morning, September 3, 2011, he was gone. Jim passed away, quietly, at home with my Grandma.
Thinking about it all summer long, Will and I were up early yesterday driving east to the San Gabriel River. The sun rising before me, tears in my eyes, and my fishermen on my mind.
I didn't catch any fish (this time). But I connected with my fishermen, and had my husband at my side.

Will and I stood on the banks of the river, casting our lines into the current, practicing more than expecting to catch anything more than twigs. And with the cool rushing water circling my legs and the warmth of the sun on my shoulders, I thought of my Grandpa and my Uncle Jimmy.

Jim was a mountain man living in northwest Montana along the Kootenai River. Smart, strong, a master craftsman, always with a dog by his side, sometimes troubled and made mean by drinking, yet loving and loved deeply. I will miss him in my life.
Rest in peace Jimmy.