There is a beautiful fishing resort set back in the hills of Missouri.
Shades of gold and green color the peaceful hillsides.
The water in the dale are crystal clear with rainbow trout darting everywhere.
Over the fishing paths, a canopy of colorful leaves frames the surrounding trees.
Thirty odd years ago, a little girl, who happened to be me, drank deeply of the sweet serenity and ate nature's nourishment from this favorite place.
A fishing pole and my Daddy were all I needed to touch paradise.
I remember my Father once lovingly warned me, "Don't ever go near the Susie Hole.
For you see, long ago, a little girl just about your size, drowned in that deep spot.
The spot may hold her name for all time to come.
Her life is gone and never again will she breathe.
Listen to your Daddy, please.
Stay near the shore.
Unless, I lead you into the deep."
Once, my Daddy did lead me into the deep water.
As we crossed to a better fishing spot I crowed with Trust that only a child can have, "Daddy, as long as you hold my hand, I'll go anywhere and do anything."
Our fishing preparation began every morning by 4:00 am.
The shores would be lined with folks waiting to throw in their fishing lines. Had to get there early to get the "just right spot".
The sweet whistle sounded at 6:00 am signaling approval for the fishing to begin.
Almost every day, we would catch our limit of five fat fish.
In the afternoons, the fish would nap.
My Father and I visited the museum, shopped at the Park store and took naps.
Church was Mom's favorite thing to do.
The little church was made of blond brick.
It was pretty outside and the folks were friendly inside.
They knew how to make you feel at home.
Relatives of my Mother's and some of our friends, sometimes accompanied us.
Our friend, Elsie said, "You meet the nicest people on the fishing banks."
Throughout life, I have found that statement to be true.
The people with simple stories left an impression on my mind for all time to come.
One guy gave me a quarter for my birthday.
I felt as though he had gift wrapped a million dollars just for me.
A school teacher told me all about her dog, "Toasty".
He was friendly and licked my face.
Even my jealous dog liked him.
They frolicked and played in a joyous way.
Once, when my Grandpa came on the trip, I caught what everyone around me declared to be the biggest fish of the year.
Everyone asked, "What bait are you using?"
My Grandpa and others echoed, "My! What a catch!"
My Daddy crowed with pride, "That's my little fisher girl!"
I was thrilled though surprised.
That fish never made his presence known until I almost had him to the shore. Then, I wasn't sure if I could pull him to the bank. I could feel my Father's Pride and Joy shoot me through giving me strength. Someone with a net came and helped when I got the fish close enough.
When my Uncle and his son joined us, fun times came in some strange ways.
On the way back to camp, my Uncle, Dad and I thought snow had evaded our camp in July!
The white on the ground surprised us.
Questions came from all of us, "What is that white stuff on the ground?
Where had it come from?
Why was it just at our spot?
Could it be Mother Nature had played tricks on just our family?"
The questions mounted as the wonderment grew.
Soon, we discovered a childhood prank was behind the 'snow'.
My cousin had found his Father's hidden shaving cream.
He had woke to late to go with us.
So, to ease boredom, he made it snow.
I do not know his fate as I disappeared into my tent.
There, I exploded into belly bursts of laughter.
I had tried many new things at Bennett Springs.
Now my young cousin, Chuck, had tried one on us.
After the day of fishing was done, it was time for camp chores.
Daddy built a huge campfire every night.
Mom and I would cook and do dishes.
We told stories and sang favorite songs.
The stars shone their bright light.
Katydids and tree frogs chirped their approval.
The bass of the bullfrog was often accompaniment.
The hoot of the owls and the other night creatures shared their thoughts freely.
Soon it was time to bed down in our tent.
There, we were warm and cozy, snuggled under the comforters that were part of my childhood days.
Our bodies relaxed, preparing us for morning light and fresh bacon and eggs.
Today, my memories of yesterday live on in this magical place.
After 30 years had swiftly gone by, I returned to my hillside paradise.
Many years ago, my Daddy took my baby brother's hand on heavenly fishing shores.
My memories of him in this place, were hazy and slow.
Suddenly, they came flooding back.
I finally had my bearings straight.
So much was the same as in those wonderful childhood days.
The park and its wooden merry go round and the old swings and slide are still there.
To my surprise, they held many new children.
I felt my Father's love as I watched my memories flash before my eyes.
There are changes that come with age. The camping sites have been moved up high in the hills. Earlier, we camped on the topside of Susie Hole. The little museum that stood so tall and proud had shut its doors to the public. Now, there is a new Nature Center. It is big and offers much outside entertainment as well as educational materials and displays on the inside.
A few summers past,I again returned.
My Mother went with me as in days of old.
A new tradition of 'Hillbilly Days' was in full swing.
The grounds were covered with displays of the Ozark Mountaineers magazine.
Bands played bluegrass.
Entertainment was rich and colored by the fun and amazingly proud culture.
In the morning, they were packed up and gone.
I only fished a short time.
Of course, I was up for the whistle.
My Father's old pole and I caught a big fish.
My thoughts returned to a little girl who caught the "catch of the year"
It seemed appropriate that I now learned how to clean a fish at Bennett Springs.
I still wasn't too old to do a few new things at this favorite spot.
Over the hills and through the ages, I heard my Daddy's voice come rolling to me,
"That's my little fisher girl! That sure is! That's my little fisher girl!"
I answer back, deep in the waves of life,
"Daddy, as long as you hold my hand, I'll go anywhere and do anything."
Together, we roam the hills and frolic and play.
His voice booms out, "At last, I've gone fishing instead of just a wishing."
After all, time really can't change life and special paradises, you know.
This article is dedicated to my Dad.
Dad was 61 years young when I was born. There were two main poles in his life; his fishing pole and his barber pole.
The barber shop was another place of magic for me. There were huge windows in the front. Dad was an outdoors man.
I have always thought that it is largely because of him that I am as close to nature as I am.
My Uncle who was 25 years younger than my Dad and a very strong man use to say he had trouble keeping up with Dad during fishing trips.
I always said that Dad was the youngest "old" man I ever knew. He was also a great gardener.
He grew some tomato plants that were as tall as our house.They were photographed for the newspaper. He also had the most beautiful white roses I have ever seen.
He was born a German Baptist "Dunkard" but even so, served in World War I when he was drafted. His heritage lines included Switzerland, French, German, Irish and Native American. My Dad died when I was 20. It took me another 20 years to realize that I was upset with him because he had died. Then, the healing began....How blessed I was to be the Daughter of a WWI Veteran.
He taught me a lot about facing mortality at a young age and so much more. To this day, I miss Dad.
To see other pages:
Click here to return to "Page of Contents" gives more information about these pages and also planned pages to come.
