The Livestock Pond

Growing up, I spent summers fishing at a livestock pond across the road from my grandparents’ house. I fished with hotdogs, bacon, and balls of smashed bread. I would not touch fishing worms. I raided Mamaw and Papaw’s fridge for bait, grabbed my fishing pole, and headed to the pond. The pond wasn’t much bigger than a mud hole, but we thought it was the best. My uncle Ronnie stocked it with fish he caught from the river, and he built a nice dock to fish from. It was always peaceful there. Woods enclosed the water on all sides, and the surrounding trees were decorated with fishing line and bobbers. My cousins, Joseph, Leslie, and I weren’t the best fishermen, but we had fun. Cattails grew thick along the water’s edge. Colorful dragonflies glided over the water’s surface and rested on the soft cattails. Big bullfrogs croaked from the water’s edge. Bass flashed in the sunlight as they darted in and out of the stalks. Occasionally, a large catfish tail slapped the water, sending ripples rolling across the pond. We all reeled in fast and cast back out in the direction of the catfish, most of the time getting tangled in each other’s lines.

One day, Joseph was sitting on the edge of the dock fishing, and somehow he tumbled into the water. He went completely under. I could see him rolling around on the bottom, clouds of mud and algae stirring as he thrashed. I thought we’d lost him forever to the murky depths. Leslie told me to go get help. Then she lay down on the dock, reaching down to try to grab him. I ran off the dock in a panic, going in circles, trying to remember what to do and which way the path was. Somehow, Joseph bobbed to the surface, and Leslie was able to grab him. He pulled himself back onto the dock. The first thing he said was, "I need a Q-tip." He was more concerned about the pond water in his ears than the fact he almost drowned. It was a very close call. I don’t think we told anyone for years because we knew we wouldn’t be allowed back at the pond.

We spent many summer days there, casting lines, trying different baits, moving to new spots, and switching out sinkers and bobbers. The catfish my uncle Ronnie caught at the river thrived in that pond. They were large, heavy, and hard to reel in. When one was caught, everyone heard our excitement echo through the holler.