What is was like for us as a family and extended family to go on a camping/fishing trip back when.

Take 'em fishing. Something we read in magazines, heard from the children specialist, and the most-wise of all, grandparents. For instance our family of seven plus a number of aunts, uncles and cousins went camping one Firday and spent the night and all day Saturday on Trout Creek. There were six adults and porbably an even dozen children.

Sulphur Springs, an earned name, where the old foot bridge was and there was plenty of space for roughing it. I mean roughing it. No camper, not even a tent, only the wide open spaces, out under the stars and, God only knows what else was up in those trees over us. It scares me now to think about roughing it. Even with all the sounds of the creek singing its song, the crickets chirping along with it and the owl seemingly singing base, there was still a certain peaceful hush or quietness at night.

It all started when my parents, aunts and uncles were sitting on the porch one day visiting, drinking coffee and later dipping snuff. They planned a camping trip for the next Friday when the men came in from work, (which turned out to be earlier than usual that particular day).

Now to get ready for the camping trip certain things had to be done. Early Friday morning Momma would make an extra pan of biscuits and cornbread and at least one gallon of grape kool-aid since that was our favorite. I remember a big jar of coffee; T-Henry (brand name), cornbread, biscuits, onions and lots of meal and salt for the seasoning of fish. There was always that big old bucket of Mrs. Tucker's Lard and an empty bucket (same brand saved for such an occassion) to make the coffee in and plenty of potatoes to go with the fish and some ketchup. Momma would pack her glass plates, iron skillet, some forks and knives and coffee cups. All this would be packed in cardboard boxes. There had to be quilts for all of us to sleep on, extra clothes to put on at night. My brother would be be responsible for the fishing bait. He would get a shovel and a big bucket or several cans and take off to the woods to dig worms where Daddy had shown him to dig. This was before the new fad, "worm beds". Anyway all the other campers would do the same and there was always plenty bait for every one. At last, time to go. Momma would don her fishing apron she had designed for herself with strings tied in back and three pockets across the front, one for hooks, sinkers and extra line, one for the little perch she planned to catch and the other for the old trusty snuff tin. While she was doing last minute things, Daddy and Ed, my brother, would load the old cane poles into the car by rolling down the back window on the passenger side and sticking the poles through the opening and sliding them down between the front seat and the front door onto the floor board in the front. We would all pile in wherever we could. Off we would go, headed for Sulphur Springs.

On arrival people would begin to 'roll out' of the vehicles, the men would help the women unload the heavy boxes and
rig-out all the fishing poles for themselves and any other that wanted to fish. Now this didn't take long because there was not a whopping variety to choose from. Simply a small hook, a short line and sometimes a tiny ball sinker and of course a cane pole, one to fit your size and that was it. The poles were flying, bait cans clanging and kids squealing with delight about being on the creek bank and getting into the creek if no one was looking.

Daddy and the other men would go fishing after giving directions about where they would be in case we needed them. There was a signal for distress, three blasts from the car horn. They would go fish and have enough fish for all of us by late evening, bring them back to camp, go down to the creek's edge and clean them. While they were doing this the women would get the fire going with the help from the older boys who would gather up some really big limbs that had fallen from the trees, place them in a row with just a small space between them making two places to cook. After they placed them just right, they would lay small twigs into the two spaces and pile larger ones on the top. When Momma gave the ok signal they would strike a match and stick it to the small dry twigs and poof we had a roaring fire. As soon as the fire died down, the cooking would start. The women would drag out their iron skillets, fill them with the bright white lard from the bucket placing the skillet over the fire with extra care to make sure it was as level as possible to keep the hot grease from spiling out. As the men would get a few fish ready the women would start frying. The older girls would peel potatoes, onions and if there were any fresh tomatoes, they would slice them and put them on a plate. Oh but this was a time to be very careful. Why? Hogs!!! They were everywhere and if you didn't watch them they would have all your potatoes eaten before you had a chance to fry them. The boys, if they were around the camp, would chase them off by slapping the sides of their legs or throwing sticks at them, the latter being much more fun they said. I promise you, there is just no way to describe the smell of dry wood burning, fish frying and onions being peeled. When that smell floats around in the air it would make anyone hungry.

By now the old empty lard bucket had been filled with fresh creek water and set on the fire to heat up to a rolling boil then someone would pour about half cup coffee grounds into the bucket and it would stop boiling for just a second and then it would boil again. This is when and adult would take a strong stick, run it through the (bail) handle of the now blackened bucket and lift it off to the bare ground to let the coffee grounds settle before they would pour a cup.

The fish were fried, the old papers were spread out on the ground and all gathered around, took their seat on the ground and someone would ask the blessing. (I hated the way those sticks would poke me when I sat down). Around the table the pans of fish would be passed, followed by onions, potatoes and tomatoes. No one got up from the table until all were finished eating because that was the time we all shared stories and laughed and sang silly songs and gospel (church) songs even though some were a little off-key. But who cared? We were having a good time as a family.

Take 'em fishing? You know it! Now after so many years have passed, I can only wish my little ones knew about the fun times of the almost forgotten past.