Charlotte Savage


By Charlotte Savage

Grandpa, with four old friends and his seven year old granddaughter Debbie, chugged into Boston Harbor on his twenty-four foot boat.

Arriving at Green Island, well before noon; Grandpa announced, “No one will get his first beer until he has caught a fish.”

His friend all laughed at him.

“Oh! Boy!” thought seven years old, Debbie, I’m going to have my first beer!

Grandpa anchored the boat.

Once everyone was settled, Grandpa took a nap in his cabin; returning on deck an hour later.

Deborah sat dejectedly, moving her pole up and down in short jerky motions.

“What’s wrong, Deb?”  Grandpa asked.

“I can’t catch a fish Grandpa.  That means I won’t be getting my beer.”

Tears glimmered on her eye lids.

“Come sit with me.  Let’s see if you and I can catch a fish.”

Grandpa took a tripod that held three hooks, baited them with live worms; attached a heavy twine to the tripod.

“Drop it overboard, Deb,” said Grandpa.

He handed Debbie the line to hold.

“Pull up on it when you feel bottom; keep them hooks off the ocean floor. ”

The line barely hit bottom when Deb said, “Grandpa, my hand hurts, this line is too heavy.”

“Pull it up and let’s have a look.”

Hand over hand, Deborah pulled up on the wet twine; until most of it was back on board.

“Let’s look over the side and see what you caught.”

Grandpa took his net from the deck.

Deborah looked over the side and saw a fish swimming;

It looked like a rainbow.

“A rainbow mackerel,” said Grandpa.

Next Deborah saw a silvery gray fish which Grandpa called a Cod.

The third fish was flat, with dirty brown scales; big staring eyes.

“It’s a Flounder,” said Grandpa.

“Hooray, look everybody, I caught three fish.  O.k., Grandpa, I’m ready for my beer.”

Grandpa opened a chest of cold drinks and handed Deborah a root beer.

“I thought; I thought; I thought I was going to have a real beer, Grandpa,” her mouth trembling with disappointment.

“Ask me again when you are twenty-one, Deborah,” said Grandpa.

A forlorn Debbie took the can of root beer–knowing Grandpa to be a man of his word.

“O.k. Grandpa, I’ll remind you.”

“Hey Deb,” said Grandpa’s friend, “You’re the best darn fisherman on this boat;  three fish caught at the same time.  None of us grownups can match that! Show us what you caught.”

Deborah lifted her tripod; proudly showing off her catch;

The men all raised their beer and saluted her;

Debbie proudly raised her root beer too—

Wondering all the while if it tasted as good as the real thing.

© Charlotte Savage all rights reserved


Driving north to New Hampshire to be with family

In a rural town- just a main street;

Snow sifts down in thick flakes

A virgin blanket; everything so neat.

Farm country, land covered and sleeping,

New made footsteps in the snow;

I spy a wild turkey in a field,

Safe for the present, I know!

A table laden with delectable food

Family and friends gathering to share;

Two birthdays– one engagement,

The Thanksgiving spirit is definitely here.

Two families coming together

Future in-laws join in the fun;

Truly a celebration of families

Praying for God’s blessings in the year to come.

I gaze out over the pristine land

Thinking of this day we share;

Hearing a one year olds happy gibberish,

My young grandsons playing tag.

A momentary glowing through dark gray skies

Sun filtering over trees laden with snow

Pine needles sparkle like diamonds on black velvet;

Giving off a borealis glow.

A squirrel stares from a nearby tree,

Watching humans mill about;

Happy am I to be so fortunate;

I am on the inside-looking out.

2011 Charlotte Savage  all right reserved

Published on June 11, 2010 at 4:48 pm  Comments (2)  

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2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Great story Char! I loved it. Debbie will soon learn root beer is much better than real beer any day of the week!

  2. Charlotte the fact is that I can identify with Debbie.
    I too could catch fish only when my friend Bebo taught me his secrets.Bebo was 10 years older than I and he took me under his wing when at age 7 I became a stready fishermen at the Club.
    O memories, memories, memories of an old man.I drank Materva.
    Julio D’Gabriel

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