Click, clock, click, clock, click, clock. . . . I was sitting in my car the other day, waiting to make a right turn on Highway 60. For some reason I didn’t have the radio on, and it was quiet, except for the click, clock of the turn signal. And suddenly I was sitting in my grandfather’s old red station wagon, with the same sound of the turn signal, breathing in earthworms and fish, getting ready to head on to the Rainbow River for a day of fishing.

What fun we used to have! We would rise from bed way before the sun came up and have our morning coffee. (I was allowed to have a little coffee to get me going, I think it was decaf anyways…) With the car packed full of poles and provisions, we’d drive down to Angler’s, load our items in the boat, and, depending on what we were fishing for that day, decide what to do for bait. If we were heading for bass, we would bring two long cane poles to catch our own shiners for bait. If it was bream we were after, we would load up on earthworms. Then we’d head down the river to my grandfather’s favorite fishing spots. Once the boat motor cut off and the poles were in the water, the silence and serenity of the river was breathtaking. Of course, my grandfather would have said we were so loud with our chitter-chatter that we scared the fish away. I still remember it being pretty peaceful.

We caught plenty most days and returned to the marina where Grandpa taught me how to filet a fish with no bones, a skill I’m proud to say that I still have to this day. Once the cleaning was done, we would take the catch back to the house and Grandma would cook it up for dinner.

Great summer memories, and they all tumbled into my head from the simple sound of a turn signal. I wonder what direction I will go tomorrow.