I don’t fish. I eat meat, I eat fish, I eat, eat, eat. But I don’t want to engage in the act of capture.
This is quite common – a cowardly stance that allows others to do the dirty work for us. I’m not ashamed. I’d let others do a lot of dirty work for me had I the resources for it. Cleaning my house comes to mind.
Still, my fate is that I will sooner be the one cleaning rather than the one cleaned after.
But I will never enjoy catching fish.
And yet, I am mesmerized by others engaged in this activity (see previous post). And so it should come as no surprise that I should also be entranced by places that breed fish to fill lakes and streams so that the likes of you, you, and you can be out there bringing in the catch.
All this to say that I had a couple of hours between classes today and a very very fragile voice, ready to abandon me at a snap. So I needed a break.
I packed my books and headed for my favorite café (it’s outside of Madison, south of the city, just off of Fish Hatchery Road.; if you go there, you’ll recognize its superiority, I’m sure).
I called Ed for a ride and he obliged. He’s cool about being interrupted in the middle of a work day, especially when I tell him my vocal chords need mending.
But on the way to my (close to) Fish Hatchery Road café, he detoured to the (just off) Fish Hatchery Road fish hatchery.
Trout. Bred and raised here, minutes from the Capitol, from the Law School, from the epicenter of all that needs an epicenter in this state. Fish. Half a million of them will make it from here to places where you, the Wisconsin fishing person, will throw out a line. So that it can then be placed on a plate. My plate perhaps. Fresh and honest.
Beautiful, elegant trout.
Life is so weird.