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Editor’s Note: Our Flint Hill columnist was last seen aimlessly wandering in the woods or maybe gone fishing if he f und any stick bait. The following was submitted by his son, Jason Brady, in his absence.
It’s been an odd sort of spring. We seemed to start out well enough but, then, predictably, spring lost its way.
Memorial Day was this past weekend and a faint spark fires in the back of my mind as I think about Memorial Days of the past. Memorial Day has always meant that my Aunt Sis was having her annual get together at her place, a tradition in our family for as long as I can remember.
Twenty years ago, at one of these annual parties, I recall catching my first big largemouth bass on a warm Memorial Day.
When you are a young boy with a new fishing pole, there is a finite amount of time you can spend visiting with the family within sight of a good fishing pond before it gets the better of you. I was over the
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