by Chris Strickland
I was looking forward to a wonderful of fishing with my grandpa. My brother and I would just hop into the cab of his ‘ol pickup truck. We’d have the 14 foot john boat following closely behind on the old tired trailer. I woke up as soon as the rooster crowed, and to the smell of fresh bacon cooking in the little kitchen of the house my grandpa built with more youthful hands that the ones I had come to know.