Fishing
This weekend my parents are coming up for a short visit. We talked last Saturday and I told them Lewisburg is celebrating July 4th this weekend and that they should come up (or over and down?). It has nothing to do with me missing them. Nothing at all. Anyway, I was really stir-crazy on Tuesday so after Dave tore himself away from the office, we got in the car and drove over to RB Winter State Park. There's a lake and a stream and a dam, all in one spot. How often does that happen? It's a beautiful drive to RB Winter, past Pennsylvania farms and then into the state forest, and once you arrive at the lake, you can bbq and swim. I twiddled my toes in the water, which was freezing, then sat with my two men on a blanket. Dave and I enjoyed watching Henry try to figure out exactly what sand was and why it would want to get stuck all over his hands whenever he touched it. Can you sense the cuteness? What was most inspiring, however, were the people on the other side of the lake fishing. My dad and I have been interested in going fishing ever since Dave and I moved to PA three years ago. The problem is, where do you start? My dad and I have this thing where we'll think about, conjecture, and research something to death, without actually really finding anything out about it. Plus, the hunting and fishing stores around here are intimidating in their hard-coreness. Put those two together and you end up with three years entirely devoid of actual fishing action. What I want is to find some place close to where we live where we could drive out, fish for a while, and then come home, which is exactly what RB Winter State Park is. So, to make a long story short, after a couple of excited phone calls to my pop, this morning Henry and I drove out to Mertz Rod and Gun, bought some spinners, swivels, a glorified adult version of the Snoopy pole I had when I was a kid (my dad has his own rod and reel), and a couple of fishing licenses. I'm feeling pretty hardcore.