Learning To fish

When I arrived at Vanja's house, tired from a family meeting, I found my son on the pier with his children at the water's edge. At first glance, Julia and Bryce appeared to be fishing...repeatedly casting over the water and reeling in. They were both very focused. None of the usual dashing and hurling themselves at my body for hugs was happening. So I casually asked if they had caught anything.

"Not a single fish.", said Bryce, happily casting his line out again and hooking a branch.

Vanja walked slowly over to jiggle the hook loose, reminding his son not to cast in the direction of the nearby oak. Apparently, this was the father's job, which he was undertaking with endless patience for both children. He still moves rather gingerly, though his back is getting better.

This casting out of the line, apparently with no expectation of a catch, seemed capable of providing infinite pleasure. Process was everything. Pleasure in the moment was being affirmed with every cast and every retrieval. The pause to replace an irretrievable lure was not a problem. It was all good.

Julia stopped first, but only to come and sit beside Nanny on the edge of the pier. I had spotted another green heron in the lower branches of the oak, and was aiming my camera with little result. The young bird was moving around, trying to find a good place for his own fishing practice. He was definitely not as focused as Bryce. And neither was I. Julia had decided I needed her help. Again and again, she helped me to relocate the bird...and even to steady my arms as I shot. She said little for a while; she seemed to be pondering something. Then she spoke.

"You know, Nanny... The very best kind of photography is done with your mind. Your memory..."

The extra photo, taken with Julia's help, is of the baby green heron. But the very best photographs taken that day remain in my mind. My memory... And my heart...