You Boys Better Go Dig Some Worms

by Lowell Aberson

I love thunderstorms.  I watch them build and approach from miles away across the wide-open plains of western Kansas.  As I lay in my tent one evening this summer while in Colorado enjoying a thunderstorm, I was taken back to my youth in northwest Iowa where I was one of 9 children. 

Summer sports was not a thing in the early 70’s.  During the summer our lives revolved around making the farm go!  In addition to the year-round chores like raising hogs and milking cows, we had many other duties to attend to.  We had 3 huge gardens that required seemingly constant weeding and harvesting so that food could be preserved for the fall and winter.  When we were done chopping weeds in the bean fields, we could hire out to neighbors to do the job for them, same with baling hay. 

Mowing grass, painting outbuildings…

…butchering chickens, fixing and maintaining farm equipment, on a 17-acre home place surrounded by farm ground, there were constantly tasks that needed to be done.   We learned very early that working together as a team was the quickest most efficient way of getting things done. 

Nothing was better than awakening in bed on an early summer morning listening to a good thunderstorm.  That meant that it would be to wet to perform many of the kinds of work that a normal day would include -it meant a day off.  We would get the normal chores out of the way and then speculate what the rest of the day might bring. 

 A mid-morning trip to town to visit Wally Zwagerman’s Hardware sometimes happened. While Dad was busy catching up with goings on about town, 2 or 3 of us boys would wander around the store, and we usually found ourselves at the small section of hunting and fishing gear displayed on a pegboard wall.  Wally also sold fishing licenses for Iowa and Minnesota and when we heard Dad tell Wally that he better buy the Minnesota fishing license, we knew it was on!    

At dinner with Mom and Dad, which is noon on the farm…

…with the evening meal being supper, we would gather around the huge table and wait.  

After eating Mom always read the Bible for our daily devotions and closed with prayer.  When she was done, Dad would stretch, light an unfiltered Camel and proclaim, “you boys better go dig some worms.”  Chairs hastily scraped backwards, and the mission commenced.  

By now, a well-established sequence of events was put into action.  

Mom and the girls would prepare a picnic supper…

…and my older brother and I oversaw the worm capture operation.  

Armed with pitchforks that were used to clean hog barns, younger brothers were instructed to grab various sized tin cans from the junk pile, and we assembled behind the old chicken coop.  

We dug and the little brothers broke apart clumps of dirt and picked out all the juicy wigglers that we could find.    We usually wound up with more than a dozen containers packed in a cardboard box because several of us figured that we needed our own special can of worms.

With bait secured, a rush was made to ready tackle, afternoon chores were done early so we’d get on the road by 3 p.m., heading to West Graham Lake just across the border in Minnesota. 

Mom, Dad and the 2 youngest kids occupied the front seat…

…of the single cab Red Ford pickup and the other 7 kids were piled in the bed of the truck under a topper.  That truck carried us on many adventures and thousands of miles over the years! 

Also crammed under the topper were all the fishing poles, 1 big tackle box, a picnic basket full of sandwiches/fruit/cookies, a huge thermos of lemonade and finally a 10-gallon milk can to secure our catch.  We had no idea it was crowded; we were going fishing.

At that time West Graham Lake was a world class bullhead fishery…

…at least in our eyes.  After an hour drive, we could drive right up to the lake and park.  A relatively open stretch of shoreline, with just a few trees, provided plenty of room to spread 9 kids out along the shoreline to fish.   

A bell sinker tied on the line above a small gold Aberdeen hook with a chunk of worm was hastily cast to the water; it was always a race to see who caught the first fish.  It never took long and within a few minutes, someone would holler I GOT ONE.  Shortly after the first bullhead went into the can, the action heated up pretty good.  

On these trips, we learned some of our better cuss words listening to Dad wonder out loud whatever possessed him to think that he and Mom could take 9 kids fishing and have everything go smoothly??? 

 Between unhooking fish, re-rigging broken lines, untangling crossed lines, hooks in trees, at least one person falling into the lake and Dad trying to just make a cast for himself, the language could get colorful at times!   

We would fish until the milk can was full or the sun was nearly down which ever came first.  Everything, including sleepy younger siblings, was crammed back into the truck and we were soon bound for home.  

About 20 minutes from the house, we would pass through Sheldon, Iowa. The most important thing about Sheldon was an A & W drive-in.  

With our large family and small budget, we seldom ate out but nearly every time we did this fishing trip, we would stop at the A & W and the folks would buy 3 gallons of A & W root beer.  

These precious glass bottles made the remainder of the trip home in the front seat with Mom & Dad standing guard.  

Upon arriving at home, teamwork once again took over...  

…Dad and the boys would set up under a huge yard light and begin to clean fish.  Placing the fish on a couple of old boards, three of us would use Old Hickory butcher knives to remove the heads and slit the bellies.  

The fish was then passed down the line for removing the insides and cleaning in fresh well water.  When finished, several large containers of delicious fish were taken into the house to be consumed for supper the next evening.  

While the fish were being dressed, Mom and the girls were cleaning up the picnic remains and preparing the final treat of the evening.   A couple of freezers were in the basement, and one was dedicated to holding mostly Schwans ice cream.  By the time the fish made it into the house, the girls were just getting done making giant root beer floats.   

These days were always a day that made everyone feel good and sure brought us all closer together.

It seems that with the current pandemic in our country, folks are getting outdoors more.  I can’t think of a better way to teach teamwork and make some truly lasting memories

Huge shoutout to Lew’s/Strike King…

…for sending a free packet of fishing goodies stuff to every person who sends in a Fish Camp Tails story. If you want to buy some of their fishing stuff here’s a link to their catalogue. **Truth in all this, I don’t get any moola or product from Lew’s/Strike King for doing the link thing, nor is the rumor true that I strong-armed Skippy into this, sort of…”

If you’d like to send in your own Fish Camp Tails Story, doesn’t matter where you live, fill the form out below with your idea and hit submit and I’ll get right back to you.