Remembering Poppy
As you will see in the previous post, we've been without internet for a while now so this post was written on the 18th, so I'm just now able to post it.
August 18th
That song still makes me cry...
It’s been two and a half years since Poppy (my grandfather) died, and when he did, my brother Kyle had the audacity to write a really good song about him that he played at the funeral and then gave us all a copy. It was a really good song and summed up everything we felt about him. In fact, it was too good. It still stirs up all those happy but sad emotions that you feel when you lose someone you love. Happy ‘cause you remember the good times. Sad ‘cause the person is gone. The other day I made a CD of some of my favorite music that Kyle’s done and the last song I put on there was "He Gave Us Love", the one Kyle wrote and recorded about Poppy. "He bought me my first fishin’ pole when I was only eight. . . I’ll never forget the times we had at the Kinneman Lake." After hearing the words again, I remembered just how much I still miss him.
Poppy had a little spot on the lake, just outside Brookport, Illinois, that he rented from Junior Kinneman, a big old man who, according to my brother, could still hold his own as evidenced by one time when he got into a scrap with a young twentysomething year old guy down there. Watching him roll around on the ground with that young guy would make you think twice about crossing him. The spot that poppy had was just really a concrete pad that was up on the gravel road. Most people put a camper or some sort of ediface on theirs.
I don’t remember where Poppy got his camper. It wasn’t very big, just enough for a couple people to sleep in. It had a stove, a sink, a bathroom, and a closet to hold some fishing gear, and some seating that doubled as a couch, a bed, and a dining room. It had a little awning that we pulled out when the sun was too bright. Across the gravel road was a little set of stairs that led to the water. Poppy’d take us down that old rickety flight of wooden stairs to the dock where there was a green john boat. Well, green and gray. A lot of the green paint was peeling. "Be careful," he’d say, "that boat can get away from you quicker than you know it." So carefully, we’d put in the cane poles, the minner bucket, and the cooler (filled with old fashioned coca cola and peanut butter crackers of course, -did you think it would be anything else?). Slowly and carefully, he’d let us get in first -he held the boat to keep it steady.
Once we were set, we’d start the motor. If it ran great. If not, out came the paddles. Off we’d go and it seemed like forever till we got to a good fishing spot. Occasionally, a turtle would swim off into the water as we made our way down the middle of the lake, and we’d always look in the trees to see if there were any snakes hanging out. Finally, we’d get to a good place to fish (a good one was where Uncle David, Poppy’s brother had caught a bunch of fish the previous week, which could be anywhere cause Uncle David was a really good fisherman). When we’d get there, we might drop anchor, which was just an old piece of iron on a long rope, open the minner bucket, and get our fishing poles ready. It was important to use live bait because Poppy had a keen disregard for fake lures. Not only did he not believe they worked -he claimed the fish could tell the difference in a fake worm and a real one - he also did not believe that you could use a fake lure and still honestly say you were fishing. If you still insisted, he’d let you, but not while you were seriously crappie fishing. "You have to be quiet, the fish can hear you" he’d say. I still remember him explaining how to catch a crappie..."Take this minnow here, put it on the hook, and pull up close to the bank. See that log in the water over there? That’s a good spot. Drop that minnow down right beside that log and if there’s a fish down there, he’ll bite it every time. David taught me that." After a couple hours of sitting in the hot sun, drinking cokes, eating peanut butter crackers till our stomachs hurt and hearing this fishing advise more times than we could count, we’d finally head back toward the dock.
When we got back to the dock, we might fish for bluegill a few minutes before making our way back up to the camper. If we caught some fish, we - well, he might clean them, and then we’d go in that old camper to roll them in corn meal, douse them with salt and pepper, and fry ‘em up in some oil. Then it was time for a sit down dinner complete with more cokes, and Poppy’s never ending advise about how to be sure to pick out the bones of the fish so they don’t get caught in your throat. Dinner conversation usually revolved around how hot the day was, how much work it was to fish, and wouldn’t it be nice to go out there and catch a fifty pound cat in that lake. Oh, yes, there were some big ones out there, but they were mostly on the bottom. Poppy would often say, "Even work can be fun if you like what you are doing. Sometimes you work as hard playing as you do when you are working."
After dinner, we might go out and pitch washers, especially if Uncle Maurice (Pronounced "Marse") was there. Uncle Marse could really talk a big game and called us "Kentucky Hillbillies." We might pitch washers till the sun went down, then we might go back in the camper and play cards until it was time to go back home, or to bed if we were going to stay the night.
Poppy could really play a good game of rummy. He had a good "poker" face that he used just as well in rummy. Not that I ever remember him playin poker per se, but he probably would have been good at it. You might get ready to throw a card away and his eyes would get real big and he’d blow out a big "Whheeewwwww" like you just gave him something great, or he was relieved that you hadn’t played something important. He’d often taunt you by looking at you, holding up his finger and saying, "Ok, just one more card and I’m going out! Just one more." and as you were pulling it out to throw in the discard pile he’d say "Yep, that’s the one. Are you sure about that one?" It always made you nervous. And it seemed like he’d always wait till the last minute where he’d put down two or three sets of cards with just enough to throw one away, ending the game and leaving you holding multiple cards. You always knew when he was about to end the game, cause he did the same thing every time - He’d get really calm and say, "Lookie here," he’d play his cards, throw his last one away, get a big smile on his face, start laughing, and yell, AAhhhhhhhh boy!" and you knew he’d won again.
Yeah Kyle, we always will remember those times at the lake.
August 18th
That song still makes me cry...
It’s been two and a half years since Poppy (my grandfather) died, and when he did, my brother Kyle had the audacity to write a really good song about him that he played at the funeral and then gave us all a copy. It was a really good song and summed up everything we felt about him. In fact, it was too good. It still stirs up all those happy but sad emotions that you feel when you lose someone you love. Happy ‘cause you remember the good times. Sad ‘cause the person is gone. The other day I made a CD of some of my favorite music that Kyle’s done and the last song I put on there was "He Gave Us Love", the one Kyle wrote and recorded about Poppy. "He bought me my first fishin’ pole when I was only eight. . . I’ll never forget the times we had at the Kinneman Lake." After hearing the words again, I remembered just how much I still miss him.
Poppy had a little spot on the lake, just outside Brookport, Illinois, that he rented from Junior Kinneman, a big old man who, according to my brother, could still hold his own as evidenced by one time when he got into a scrap with a young twentysomething year old guy down there. Watching him roll around on the ground with that young guy would make you think twice about crossing him. The spot that poppy had was just really a concrete pad that was up on the gravel road. Most people put a camper or some sort of ediface on theirs.
I don’t remember where Poppy got his camper. It wasn’t very big, just enough for a couple people to sleep in. It had a stove, a sink, a bathroom, and a closet to hold some fishing gear, and some seating that doubled as a couch, a bed, and a dining room. It had a little awning that we pulled out when the sun was too bright. Across the gravel road was a little set of stairs that led to the water. Poppy’d take us down that old rickety flight of wooden stairs to the dock where there was a green john boat. Well, green and gray. A lot of the green paint was peeling. "Be careful," he’d say, "that boat can get away from you quicker than you know it." So carefully, we’d put in the cane poles, the minner bucket, and the cooler (filled with old fashioned coca cola and peanut butter crackers of course, -did you think it would be anything else?). Slowly and carefully, he’d let us get in first -he held the boat to keep it steady.
Once we were set, we’d start the motor. If it ran great. If not, out came the paddles. Off we’d go and it seemed like forever till we got to a good fishing spot. Occasionally, a turtle would swim off into the water as we made our way down the middle of the lake, and we’d always look in the trees to see if there were any snakes hanging out. Finally, we’d get to a good place to fish (a good one was where Uncle David, Poppy’s brother had caught a bunch of fish the previous week, which could be anywhere cause Uncle David was a really good fisherman). When we’d get there, we might drop anchor, which was just an old piece of iron on a long rope, open the minner bucket, and get our fishing poles ready. It was important to use live bait because Poppy had a keen disregard for fake lures. Not only did he not believe they worked -he claimed the fish could tell the difference in a fake worm and a real one - he also did not believe that you could use a fake lure and still honestly say you were fishing. If you still insisted, he’d let you, but not while you were seriously crappie fishing. "You have to be quiet, the fish can hear you" he’d say. I still remember him explaining how to catch a crappie..."Take this minnow here, put it on the hook, and pull up close to the bank. See that log in the water over there? That’s a good spot. Drop that minnow down right beside that log and if there’s a fish down there, he’ll bite it every time. David taught me that." After a couple hours of sitting in the hot sun, drinking cokes, eating peanut butter crackers till our stomachs hurt and hearing this fishing advise more times than we could count, we’d finally head back toward the dock.
When we got back to the dock, we might fish for bluegill a few minutes before making our way back up to the camper. If we caught some fish, we - well, he might clean them, and then we’d go in that old camper to roll them in corn meal, douse them with salt and pepper, and fry ‘em up in some oil. Then it was time for a sit down dinner complete with more cokes, and Poppy’s never ending advise about how to be sure to pick out the bones of the fish so they don’t get caught in your throat. Dinner conversation usually revolved around how hot the day was, how much work it was to fish, and wouldn’t it be nice to go out there and catch a fifty pound cat in that lake. Oh, yes, there were some big ones out there, but they were mostly on the bottom. Poppy would often say, "Even work can be fun if you like what you are doing. Sometimes you work as hard playing as you do when you are working."
After dinner, we might go out and pitch washers, especially if Uncle Maurice (Pronounced "Marse") was there. Uncle Marse could really talk a big game and called us "Kentucky Hillbillies." We might pitch washers till the sun went down, then we might go back in the camper and play cards until it was time to go back home, or to bed if we were going to stay the night.
Poppy could really play a good game of rummy. He had a good "poker" face that he used just as well in rummy. Not that I ever remember him playin poker per se, but he probably would have been good at it. You might get ready to throw a card away and his eyes would get real big and he’d blow out a big "Whheeewwwww" like you just gave him something great, or he was relieved that you hadn’t played something important. He’d often taunt you by looking at you, holding up his finger and saying, "Ok, just one more card and I’m going out! Just one more." and as you were pulling it out to throw in the discard pile he’d say "Yep, that’s the one. Are you sure about that one?" It always made you nervous. And it seemed like he’d always wait till the last minute where he’d put down two or three sets of cards with just enough to throw one away, ending the game and leaving you holding multiple cards. You always knew when he was about to end the game, cause he did the same thing every time - He’d get really calm and say, "Lookie here," he’d play his cards, throw his last one away, get a big smile on his face, start laughing, and yell, AAhhhhhhhh boy!" and you knew he’d won again.
Yeah Kyle, we always will remember those times at the lake.
posted by Kim Reeder | 9:02 PM
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