Article Submitted by Holly Overman-
The roots of my tradition go back to my childhood. I grew up on a cattle farm in Henderson County surrounded by acres of pastures and trees that provided the space to explore. Even had a big hill where you could see the whole farm from as well. That hill was my mountaintop as a child. I loved sitting up there and taking in the world around me.
On the farm, there were ponds that we kept well stocked with all kinds of fish like: catfish, bluegill, and bass. My grandfather would take me out there many afternoons to throw feed out for them. It was an interesting sight watching them swarm the food. He’d also take me there to fish for them as well. Some days my sister and grandmother would join us, but mostly it was just me and my pepaw.
The bank around the pond was high on one side and lower on the part where we’d set up. There was a huge tree that gave us shade on those warm Tennessee afternoons. My grandfather always carried a shovel with us just in case a slithery punk decided to crash our fun. He didn’t carry a gun because I was a young child at the time. We’d fish that bank until we caught enough for a family dinner. The fish we took home, he’d filet them up and my grandmother would fry them with some hushpuppies. Talk about some good country eatin’.
I learned many things from my grandfather. Patience was a big lesson he taught me. He’d say, “You have to be still and listen to things around you.” Fishing was the best way to…
For the complete story, see the March 2nd edition of The Lexington Progress.