I learned most of what I know about trout fishing on an overnight trip in the Tellico Wildlife Management Area in East Tennessee. My buddy lived nearby and loved to follow the trout streams high up to their source. We caught them by day and cooked and ate them by the evening campfires. As you will see, the following poem both is and isn’t about trout fishing.
Here in a valley grown with weeds, that hill
above us looking down, I see a mill
and hear its creak and smell the fresh-ground flow
that cooking made so sweet. And here I know
The following took place in Ooltewah, Tennessee. It is one of those stories that has never left me, although it took place sometime in the late 1960’s.