![]() It Can Hold Us AllA Story by Meagan Leigh![]() A woman takes her son ice fishing for the first time because her husband is too afraid to do it.![]() Today
I take our son ice fishing. Sean’s fellow second graders all talk about going
fishing on the frozen lake. I’ve never been before and neither has Chris. But
Chris won’t touch one foot on the ice. He won’t even watch safely from the
shore as his wife and son shuffle out to the small fishing hut. I know at least
that much. That we need one of those plastic tent shelters. Ice fishing isn’t
just a hole in the ground. Although the hole is hard to cut. I use an ice auger
that I bought from Gander Mountain. The salesman showed me how to make it
sputter into life by yanking the chord like a lawn mower. I hold it like I
would a jack hammer and it rotates like a giant drill. I probably should have asked quiet Stan from
next door or Howard from the office. We could have asked one of Sean’s friends
if he could tag along with their family. That would have been easier. Any one
of these natives of northern Wisconsin probably would have taken us out. But we
don’t know them very well. We don’t really know many people here at all yet.
Our skin is still thin from southern Missouri winters. Chris isn’t sure of the stability here. He
talks about the snow mobiles that fall through the ice. He wanted me to rent the auger. Will we ever
use it more than once? I told him we were going to start a tradition. He
doesn’t like being excluded, even by his own choice. He says he’ll take Sean
hunting next year on the opening weekend before Thanksgiving. He’s only half
kidding. Great, give our son a gun to kill things with. Our ice shack is only 20 feet from
the edge of the lake. We can see the trees that are submerged ice like they had
been submerged in water. I give Sean a ladle with holes in it to scoop out the
slush and skim the film of ice that reforms. I tell him the safety rules for
ice fishing. Look out for rotten ice. If you fall in, pull yourself out like a
seal. Take off all your clothes and get to shelter. Chris quizzed me on the
safety rules himself before we left. You have ten minutes before you lose the
use of your limbs, he reminded me. Further
out people have pulled their trucks and parked next to their fishing shanties.
A little orange flag wobbles above one of the uncovered holes and a teenage boy
comes sliding over, grasping the line with his bare hand. He jerks up and sets
the hook in the fish’s mouth. Sean is watching closely. Blood around a fishing hole is a sign that
fish have been caught here. The boy pulls up a fish and it smacks onto the ice.
We have short little poles and a
bucket full of glimmering minnows. Sean makes me loop the hook through the
flesh behind their skulls and watches them wriggle, poking them with a
finger. I ask Sean if he wants to pull
the fishing tent over our hole so we can stay warm. He shakes his head. He says
he wants to see the other families catching their fish too. We come home triumphant with two
tiny fish. We probably shouldn’t have kept them. Sean wants to eat them. Maybe
we can get dad to fry them I tell him. Chris receives the fish with enthusiasm
and Sean watches as he cuts miniscule fillets off little bones. He dunks the
four bits of fish in whisked eggs and then shakes then in a bag of bread
crumbs. He hands Sean one of the bags and they turn them over and over in their
hands. We eat the small crunchy fish sticks and we are warm from the frying
oil. Did
you see any ambulances while you were out, Chris asks after Sean goes upstairs.
I tell him no. Everything seemed fine. Well the news said two men died on the lake
this morning. Carbon monoxide poisoning. They fell asleep with the heater on in
their hut. © 2012 Meagan LeighAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on February 4, 2012 Last Updated on February 4, 2012 AuthorMeagan LeighGalesburg, ILAboutI'm a senior in college and a creative writing major. I wanted to explore an online writing community to see what I could see, read what I could read, and write what I could write. more..Writing
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