Memories, like dreams. largely come unbidden, the subconcious constantly scanning the brain’s hard drive. So it was today. An old memory, in black and white; I’m six years old, at my grade school’s fall carnival, and I’m standing facing a partition. What’s behind it I cannot see. In my hand is a bamboo fishing pole with a length of twine attached, a large plastic hook at the other end. I cast the line over the partition, wait a second, then feel a tugging on the line. When I retrieve the line, I find that I have caught a grabbag of trinkets and candy.
So it is. Almost sixty years ago and I’m fishing tenkara. I just didn’t know it.