Mom, can we have a fish fry?

By Pat Gibson (Jan. 28, 1987)

The creeks that border our place have been a favorite play area for the crew over the years. They have gone swimming, built rafts, fished, and studied nature along the banks.They have seen the power of nature when the floods scour the banks and uproot the trees. They have watched little wiggly things turn into tadpoles and then into frogs. They also learned to fish.

Now I have to admit to a slight prejudice against fish. Growing up in a strict Irish Catholic family, I got my fill of fish. We had fried or baked fish every Friday when we weren't eating scrambled eggs or macaroni and cheese. I'm glad they changed that rule. Anyway, I'm not crazy about fish or going fishing and I absolutely refuse to clean someone else's catch.

When one of the neighbors introduced the crew to fishing, their dad bought them poles and lines. They loved it. The oldest three took off one morning early and spent the time before lunch catching little perch down behind the dam on Barton Creek. They came home with 24 wiggly little fish in a bucket.

Now, it just so happened that my husband was out of town. They looked at me expectantly and asked for fried fish for supper. I informed them that the fish had to be cleaned and filleted before I would cook them. They got to work and soon the back porch was covered with scales and fish parts. They did manage to cut up all 24 of the fish but decided that spaghetti sounded better for supper. We would save the fish until Dad came home and have a fish fry.

The fish were put into the freezer until the next time we defrosted and I disposed of them in the compost heap. They went to bed that night and were awakened the next morning to an incredible odor off the porch. They had not washed off the porch where they had cleaned the fish. The smell was indescribable. We drug the hose over and used soda to cut the odor. Fishing suddenly was not nearly as much fun when you had to clean the fish and wash up afterwards. The fishing trips turned into picnic hikes to watch the fish.

Now once they showed up with some critters that looked for the world like baby lobsters. After a frantic call to a neighbor who grew up close to the Louisiana border, we had a crayfish boil, but that's another story.