Family Values

Memories are the best things that we have when others we had in our lives are no longer around. It's an amazing gift from God I think. My best memories are with my grandfather. They start back in 1980 when I was only five years old. That's when I learned how to ice fish. He would tell me all the time, "Early birds catch the worm, and the fish are biting today, I feel it in my bones."

As a young child, I had no clue what that meant, especially when you're only five. I just thought that it was exciting that I was getting to go with my grandfather on his famous fishing trips. I say "famous" because of the way he would talk about his fishing trips to his friends when they would come over, it was better than going to Disney Land. That's what I thought anyway. These trips were very important to him, it was his "thing" his "specialty" his get away from the world, his calling and I was going to be a part of it. I was going to be in his fishing stories now I thought. That's exciting.

At five in the morning, on a cold morning, it was, we were up and getting to go on our adventure. It was my first time, and getting all bundled up with layers and layers, it was going to be a long day on the frozen lake. The drive to the lake was about two hours, and of course, I fell asleep in the car on the way there. I remember sleeping most of our trips to the lake, every time I got into the car on a cold morning on the way to the lake, I was usually sleeping. It was just a long trip and it was really early, I couldn't help myself, it still happens in my adulthood.

When we arrive at the lake, my grandfather would roll down both our windows, only being cautious, never know when the ice would crack that it would crack enough for a vehicle to fall into the lake. It made cracking noises and that would usually wake me up instantly. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but my grandfather had it covered if anything would ever happen. The cracking of the ice, was really scary and I disliked it so much, and every time I heard it, I would hang my head out the window just in case I had to get out really fast.

My grandfather was always careful when it came to me; being his first grandchild, I was really important. While driving on the lake in the car with my Gido (Grandfather in Ukrainian) we would drive out onto the lake really slow at first and continue until my Gido had that feeling where he said he knew where the fish are biting. I didn't understand that either, but I did later on. My Gido drove around until he got that spidey sense feeling and we would then stop and get our fishing gear out and ready to drop our lines through the hole in the ice. My Gido would use an auger to drill the hole and then he would place a big, white pail next to the hole and start to get my fishing stick and line ready and full of maggots. That had to be the grossest thing I would see. There was no way I would touch those things.

I would wait off to the side and watch my Gido get my fishing gear all ready and then he would drop the line, unravel the line that the stick had and toss it into the ice frozen hole he made with the auger. My Gido would then test the depth with the line and hook. He would unravel the line until it bent from touching the lake floor. It would mean that my line has to be wound up three times on the stick to be the perfect height from the lake floor to where the fish were swimming around. That I guess was the perfect height for the fish to see your hook and bait. Anything lower would mean that I'm too close to the lake floor and the fish wouldn't be able to see it and that was pointless.

My Gido would also say," It's all in the wiggle and pauses that get the fish's attention, then he swims over to the hook and the fish thinks that it's real food and takes a bite of the hook covered in maggots. The fish would check out the bait and once he bites I was to jerk the stick and get the fish stuck on my hook. That first time I had ever been fishing I had a hard pull on the stick and line. I yelled out to my Gido to come quickly and help me pull the fish I caught on my own and he would take the stick in his hand and start pulling hard and fast on the line with the fish on it. When he pulled the last time, the fish popped out of the hole and onto the ice next to my hole my Gido drilled with the auger.

When that fish came out of the ice-cold lake I screamed and ran away from the monster fish I caught, but my Gido did all the hard work and unclipped the hook from the fish's mouth and tossed him into the bucket on was sitting on. Then he'd fix the hook, straighten it out and load more maggots onto the hook and toss it back into the frozen hole. I came back when he tossed the monster fish into the bucket and sat down on the white bucket after the lid was placed on it of course. My Gido then would measure out the depth again and hand me the fishing stick.

My Gido would walk back to his frozen hole in the ice and get his fishing stick ready again before tossing his line into the hole. We sat out there for hours, and the bucket I was sitting on was half full of fish. I had caught most of the fish that day, and my Gido not as many. I was so proud of the catches we had. I couldn't wait for my grandmother ( Baba in Ukrainian) about the day we had and show her all the fish I had caught. My Gido would say that I was just lucky and that next time he was going to be the one that caught more. I would tell him no way and I was going to win every time. He would laugh and joke with me about that while cleaning the fish in the basement. I would watch him fillet the fish and that was gross too. He would take his knife and place it at the end of the fish by the tail and drag his knife from the tail part all the way to the fish's head. Then he had two halves of the fish and would strip the meaty part, the fillet part, away from the skin and bones and toss that piece into a dish filled with ice and water.

My Baba would wait upstairs, rocking in her rocking chair, knitting, and watching t.v. When we came up from the basement my Gido would grab a cup of flour and another dish and pour the flour into the bowl. He would pour some oil into the skillet and get the pan ready for frying some of the fish. The rest of the fillets my Gido would pack into little plastic baggies and add some water into and freezer baggie with the fish and freeze them for another few meals. I would remember the smell from my Gido cooking up those fillets in the skillet. It was tradition for us, and it was that way for years to come. My Baba would join us for fried fish and diced potatoes, we'd have some crushed garlic too and put some onto the fried fish. It was the best meal ever. I loved those memories of us going out to fish and then get home and eat fresh, fried fish.

Through the years it was the thing my Gido and I did. When I was older and moved out of home, and I had children my Gido would take them out to the lake and have them catch fish too as I did. My children would love going out with their Great-Grandfather. That was their moment now. I was so proud of my children for giving their Great Grandfather those memories. Those were priceless to him. My kids would tell me all about their trip and how many fish they caught and tell say that Gido would tell them about the times I would catch more fish than him and I had to be doing something special for the fish to come to my hole and not his. He would joke with the kids and tell them I was probably calling them, whistling for them to come over to my hole and not his.

My kids called the fish a couple of times by whistling down the frozen holes, and they would catch fish. It wasn't the whistling that made the fish get caught, but the shine of the hook that caught the fish's attention and would make them come and check out the hook and bite it. But the secret was not to tell them that whistling was never the trick. It was funny when my Gido would tell his fishing stories to all his friends because he would tell them that his great-grandchildren had to be calling the fish over to their frozen holes in the ice to catch all the fish. It was funny how my Gido would tell his stories. He had this Ukrainian accent and his storytelling was even that much more fun to hear. Those are the best memories I have growing up with my grandparents and then my children having the same memories; it was our family tradition through the decades.

One winter my Gido had gone out alone. he'd gone alone lots of times and nobody ever thought anything would ever happen. Well, it happened. One fishing trip was going to be the last one for everyone. My Gido was gone all day and my Baba was waiting for him like always. This time, the hours came and gone, and still no Gido. My Baba had called me and asked me if I would come home and take a drive out to the lake. I was worried, and I didn't want to think the worst so soon, so I did that. I dropped the kids off with Baba and drove out to the lake. It was a long two hours, it seemed longer when you're worried. I was really worried. I was almost sick to my stomach kind of worry. I wasn't sure what to expect out there when I got out there, but I was ready for it.

When I arrived, I didn't see any kind of lights on while driving onto the ice, and that made me worry even more. I drove out onto the frozen lake as my Gido has done for years. Slowly and I rolled down my windows to be safe. I turned on my high beams and looked around, I drove around following the tracks on the snow and then I spotted his little truck. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't sure if he maybe had a heart attack and passed out or fell into the lake. I was not sure what I was going to find. I pulled up behind his truck and got out. I was already on my cell phone calling 911 and telling them to come here. Then I was calling my Baba right away and staying on the phone with her until 911 came out. My Baba told me to walk over and see if Gido was in the truck hunched over or maybe laying on the frozen ice somewhere, she wanted to know where he was, and so did I. I was just too scared to find him passed away.

I walked over to his truck and peeped into it. He wasn't there. My Gido's truck was empty. Then I had the flashlight that I took from my grandparent's place and I turned it on. I walked about half a mile at least and found nothing. I followed tracks but nothing. I couldn't see anything out there. I called his name and walked and walked. I stayed on the phone with my Baba the whole time. She was crying and I was crying. My Baba telling me that maybe a wild animal got him or someone came out there and killed him and took his body. She was losing her mind with worry and so was I. I heard off in the distance the sirens from the police and the ambulance, coming out onto the lake they drove really slow too. I waved my flashlight for them to see me and they did. They all drove out to me and got out of their vehicles and walked over to me. We all talked and I told them everything I did when I got to the lake. They wanted me to go home, but I was not leaving until my Gido was found.

That night was very long and cold. We all walked the ice lake for hours, even the K9 unit came out and searched. There was just no sign of him at all anywhere. My Baba was on my cell phone with me through the whole night and into the early morning. The Fish and Wildlife guys came out and had their dogs too searching that lake. Nothing was found. He was gone from that lake, he was not there. Something had to come and take him from there. Eventually, I went home to my hysterical Baba, she was just a wreck when I got back home. She called everyone and asked if anyone had seen or heard from Gido. Nobody knew anything. This went on for about a month, and we searched and searched. The last thing was to wait out the cold winter and see in the summer when the lake is not frozen if there was anything we could find. A tow truck came out and removed my Gido's truck off the lake and brought it to my grandparent's place. It never moved since.

When summer finally came, the search continued, and this time we all had boats and nets to troll the lake for signs of anything that would tell us what happened out there. Nothing was ever found. He was just gone. Months had passed and then years had too. Nobody saw him out there that day, and there were a few people fishing too. They said they saw the truck, but not my Gido. He just vanished into thin air.

It's been two and a half decades later now. Nothing yet and I'm sure we will never really know what exactly happened either. It just stumps everyone that had gone searching for my Gido. Nothing was ever found at that lake. Nobody no nothing, not even traces of a struggle or blood, or his clothing. Nothing was ever found. Even all his fishing gear was still in the box of my Gido's truck. Nothing was stolen or broken. Everything was just as my Gido left it. Still to this day, we never found out what happened that day with my Gido. We all pray for him to be found, either way, it was just to have closure and to know what happened. It is still a mystery.