“Noodlin’! We called it noodlin’ boy, and we’d drag some whoppers outa them holes...... wade along the creek bank and stick our arms into them holes under water and pretty soon yank out about a thirty-five pound catfish! Hafta watch them water moccasins though, they’d hide in there too.”
And Grandpa would start another great story. I loved those late summer afternoons when we’d sit out on the porch before supper. I’d smell the chicken frying and ask Grandpa a baited question that would start him off on one of his stories; those fabulous stories I loved to hear. Years afterward, people would smile and say to me, “That Grandpa of yours’ was, without a doubt, “The World’s Greatest Storyteller!”
This is a picture of the aritists Father-in-Law, he passed away and he painted this picture as a tribute to him.
This post and the one under it are a reminder to me to stay in touch with the world children are in, regardless of the stage of life. Coincidently as I was sitting reading this morning the story by Robert Louis Stevenson below, and his childhood follies, my 5 year old grandson was in the other room speaking a language, I know not what, and seemed to be filled with glee about it. So as I hear him even now, althought the dialect has changed, I think I will go in and join him in Bengali or Russian or where ever they speak that tongue.