On the Saturday morning before Father's Day we were up early for a short drive south to Spring Lake. Glen had learned of a place nearby that had his kind of fishing hole.
Janae and boys had moved back to Utah during the week, so there were one-half of the grandchildren available to go fishing with Grandpa Glen. Raymond caught the first fish.
Fishing poles were provided, and bait, and help putting on the bait and even taking the fish off the hook.
It was also peaceful with seating provided for little boys with broken legs like Henry.
Best of all, it was calm and green.
There were three trout stocked spring fed ponds.
The gentleman in waders was everywhere helping everyone and in a very nice way.
Some people pick very special places to build their homes.
There were enough fish so that everyone could catch one, but there were not so many that you didn't have to work at it a bit.
Heather's fish, one of the larger ones.
Don't let it get away Heather.
We caught a dozen in all. The best part, wader guy cleaned and filleted them all.
We just had to pay him by the pound before he started with his knife. Grandpa Glen bagged them up and put them on ice for the ride home. On Father's Day I dredged them in flour, salt and pepper and cooked them in butter just like my mother used to do. No, my dad was not a fisherman but my great uncle Emery Thomas was. On Idaho summer mornings he would be out on the streams at first light and would often drop off some trout for our breakfast.