Where the Water Taught Me


One of my fondest memories from childhood
was going fishing.


It didn’t matter where—
whether it was Hartsfield Farm,
on the side of a quiet country road,
or tucked beneath the shade of an old bridge.


What mattered…
was that we were there.


We’d pack a simple lunch,
grab our cane poles,
and spend the whole day by the water.


No rush.
No noise.
Just time… stretching out in front of us.


You had to learn how to bait your own hook—
no shortcuts, no hand-holding.
A little messy at first,
a little uncomfortable…
but that was part of it.


That was the lesson.


Fishing wasn’t just about catching anything.
It was about patience.
About stillness.
About learning how to sit with yourself
without needing more.


It gave you peace
before you even knew you needed it.


My parents gave that to me—
and in turn, they passed it down to my children.


And now I understand…
it was never really about the fish.


It was about the memories
we didn’t know we were making,
the quiet love being shared
without ever needing to say a word.


Those are the moments
that stay with you.


The ones that feel like home.