When I say "we', I am talking about myself, and Morris, that magical little mouse that lived in the shirt pocket of a very old flannel shirt I used to hunt and fish in. Morris, on occasion would offer advice in exchange for a bit of cheese, on what the fish were likely to bite on, when I was not having any luck. All in silence.
But he was always right. He's gone now. His memory is as vivid, when I put on that old shirt, as if he's still with me, in that warm pocket.
There is something inside of me that just feels out of place in a modern world. I always thought I was born about 150 years too late. I would have been at home on the great plains or in the mountains of Montana or the Smokies. I would have earned my keep by fishing and hunting the land for meat, and hides for clothes. I would have been warm in a teepee during the winter snows.
I would have been brought up in the ways of my people, nourished by their wisdom, and learned of their skills.
I would have followed the herds of buffalo, deer and elk, migrating with them throughout the seasons. I would have fished the great rivers of this nation for their bounty, and their soothing advice and wisdom.
I would have missed out on an awful lot in the modern age, though, if I were born so long ago. But it would have been fantastic!
Why do I fly fish?
Because I guess it is the challenge of the trout beckoning to me to try my luck at his game, where he reigns as master and I the student.
But more than that, a fly rod is the perfect wand that transforms me into the world where I would have lived 150 years ago.
Sometimes when I think about it, I get homesick. Some will understand.