Meet Karen

I would like to introduce everyone to Billy and Karen Morgan.  I have known the Morgans for over 20 years.  I’ve known Karen practically all my life.  When we were younger, Karen and her family lived up the road from the house we lived in, and I guess you could say that Karen is as close to sister as a fella can have without blood being involved.  The Morgans and I in our younger days spent a lot of time together.  There are tons of memories that bring back laughter, but one of just Karen and I sticks out the most.  Karen is a true Southern Lady.  She is bright (frighteningly so with numbers), sharp and witty, and has the good manners that being brought up in the South ingrains in young ladies.  In true Southern style she always looks her best, even when looking her best isn’t required.  That’s the root of this memory.  That’s where the funny lies.  

Karen lived right on the lake that was located just through the woods from my Mother’s house.  I had woken up one brisk fall morning, which in the South means it was 70 degrees, and saw the sun was making the day one a teenage boy dreams about.  The kind of day where the blood boils, the skin quivers, and the emotions pour forth like lava from the mouth of Vesuvius.  The kind of day for fishing!  I placed a call to Karen to ask whether her Father would mind me using his little aluminum boat later in the day for some bass fishing.  Karen responded with her usual answer of no he wouldn’t, however there was a pause at the end of her statement.  I picked up on this and said, “But what?”  She responded with, “You have to take me.”  I didn’t know if this was a new rule to the borrowing of the boat or if it was a test.  I politely inquired as to who made this decision.  Karen replied with one word, “Me.”  I had no choice but to agree.

I showed at her door later that afternoon, knocked and then proceeded in which was customary at her parent’s house since they were used to the coming and goings of teenagers.  I didn’t see Karen, but I heard her directions to go ahead and get the boat ready and she would be down to the lake in a “sec.”  In my mind I felt the wintery hands of being skunked because of a girl shake the dreams of bass from my stringer.  I walked back out and headed to the lake.  I unloaded my rod, yes MY rod because she said I had to take her, but she said nothing about gearing her up.  I placed my tackle box in the small boat, eased it from the pier and slide it around where she could climb in.  Then I saw her.   She was gliding down to the lake and as she neared I could see makeup on!  Then I saw the golden shine from her ears.  Why had she placed earrings in I wondered.  As I held the craft still and she stepped in I could tell that she had on perfume.  Perfume!  The very idea!  She was wearing clean tennis shoes, jeans and a shirt with buttons.  Not a short worn ragged with buttons.  Not a shirt covered in stains with buttons. She was wearing a nice clean, unstained shirt with buttons.  I shook my head in shame.  She looked at me with fire blazing from her eyes and in the Southern tradition asked if anything was wrong very condescendingly.  I had no other option but to say, “Uh uh.”  But I did squeak out under my breath, “Fish don’t care if you’re all done up.”  I slowly paddled out.

The afternoon was spent rigging up grape worms with fire tails on my line and the line of the old Zebco she had.  She might have made 3 casts an hour preferring rather to sit and just look at the scenery.  I on the other hand made several hundred casts and caught nothing but stumps, over hanging trees and a few scrawny catfish.  After spending 4 hours on the lake and depleting my supply of worms we decided to call it a day.  As I began to paddle back to the pier, Karen kept her line in the water just kind of trolling the only grape worm she had used all day.  We neared the pier and at about 15 feet out she said, “I think something is on my line,” and began to reel.  I sat there astonished.  I watched as she gingerly pulled a nice little 3 pound bass to the boat.  I was in utter disbelief.  How could this have happened?  I was the fisherman and she was my almost sister made up to go to out with her boyfriend.  I pulled her line in, took the bass and returned him to the water.   Neither of us spoke the last 15 feet.  At the pier, Karen stepped out of the boat, grabbed her Zebco and proceeded back up towards her parent’s house.  I watched her stunned at my defeat.  I thought she had gone in but I heard her call my name.  I looked up and Karen yelled at me, “Fish DO care if you’re all done up!”

I present my almost sister Karen.  A true Southern Hook!

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  JD