This section is dedicated to Clay, my Grandfather, who when I was a kid took me fishing NOT because he loved fishing, BUT because he loved me.
I don’t remember much from back in those then, we fished every day at a small pond on a family farm outside Cayuga, Ontario, Canada.
I remember the first time Grandpa told me to put a worm on our hook, I was pretty excited since I was told, “…that’s a big boy job,” so I ran back up to the house and grabbed a piece of twine and brought it back to Grandpa so we could tie the worm to the hook.
Grandpa just looked at the string, smiled and stuck the hook through the worm which sent me balling into the house because we “kilt” a worm.
The next day Grandpa was sitting down by the pond waiting for me, rod and reel all set to go, my Grandma, Tess, basically had to carry me down there since I didn’t want to “Kilt” any more worms, but when I got there and Grandpa handed me the fishing rod & reel…on it was a very alive tied up worm.
Clay passed away a few short years later but I still have his old green tackle box, and in it, sits a tiny, disintegrating, dirty piece of “worm string, Donnie.”