Socks Go Fishing

We live near the Trinity River–one of the prettiest I have yet seen. As a river scientist (hydrologist) by day, I have seen my share. Although rare has it been that I have met a river I didn’t like.

I walk to the river from our house often. We have a special spot where we go. Down a secret lane. I will head to the river for exercise. Or for solace. To find my center. 

Husband likes to go down and fish, especially as fall sneaks in and the half pounders arrive. 

Reed loves to catch fish. He enjoys playing with the worms. And his bucket and shovel. As soon as dad hooks a fish, Reed goes trotting over and reels it in like a pro. The little guy has caught more fish before the age of three than most adults have caught in their entire lives. It is the cutest thing. 

This time I got smart. I brought a camp chair. And my socks. Don’t get me wrong, I love fishing. I do. But I don’t fish like I used to. I have my reasons. 

I didn’t get too much knitting done. Just a few rounds snuck in between wiping a little nose, snapping photos and videos, assisting with sweatshirt zipping, tying knots for husband (stubborn to admit he should really bring his eyeglasses fishing…good thing my knitting overqualifies me for expert fishing knots!), and rescuing worms. 

I have to say, river knitting is the best. Most scenic stiches ever. 

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