Posted on 04/16/2004 6:37:21 PM PDT by Mo1
"The White and North Fork Rivers have produced many of the world line-class records. The second largest Brown ever caught by any method was taken in the North Fork River, and it was a world record for several years, weighing 38 pounds 9 ounces. Both the White and the North Fork have produced a slew of 20 to 30 pounders, including a 33 pound and a 34 pounder. The largest Brown ever caught was taken in the Little Red River, Arkansas, about 80 miles south of Mountain Home."
Here's the Arkansas record blue catfish catch...116 lbs. 12 oz. (The world record is 139 lbs +)
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The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar. As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled. I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank. Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. "Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back."
Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly. "These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me."
We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. "When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again." He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. "You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters," he said. "But you'll get there. I'll see to that."
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed.
A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done. When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.
No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar. To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me. "When you finish college, Son," he told me, his eyes glistening, "You'll never have to eat beans again...unless you want to."
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. "She probably needs to be changed," she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room. "Look," she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.
This truly touched my heart... I know it has yours as well. Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings. Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.
God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for God in others.
That one made my monitor kinda blurry - thank you.
Rush Limbaugh's heart.
Poor CO, so close to being on the right side of the border. 54°50' or bust...
Thanks.
We're only feeding six tummies, but there is always tomorrow.. and that will mean that I don't have to cook two days running..;) Leftovers are a gooooooood thing..
I have the pork in the smoker, and the beef all seasoned and waiting. Desserts are done.. Now I can rest a bit. Oh Goody!
Hey, you were peeking on Ioni and her kitty.. Baaaad Loddy, and you know it would be hammered on here for sure.
It looks like you're going to a very pretty place Libby. I wish you good luck and "happy trails to you."
I loved that letter..
Thanks Gran. I'm looking forward to it, but it's going to be rough for awhile. I'm dreading this next couple of months.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh.. that sounds like good fishing Lib. I'll bet the fly-fishing is great too.
Moving is not any fun Lib.. I have one more move in my future too I expect. I'm not looking forward to it..but this house and yard will get to be too much for us soon, sighhh..
I'm not condo reading yet tho.. :(
Umm.. ready is what I meant..lol.
Holy Cow that is one big fish
Morning Y'all .. the girls are already bickering .. should be another fun day ... NOT
Send them to summer camp until school starts up again.
Heheh - I couldn't resist mashing "Previous."
Good yob with all the food prep - making my mouth water, here.
I guess that I'll throw some gear in the bag and head north to check on my father for a couple or three days. The weather's drizzly and crummy here, but it should clear by the time I get to Waco, or so.
Please continue having fun here.
Cheers.
From what I read, the fishing is fantastic in the whole area, clear to Eureka Springs to the west and down to Heber Springs to the south. That whopper catfish was pulled out of the Mississippi to the east.
That "next to the very last move," can be a bitch.
You and Fluff hang in; you've lots of family to pitch in, as it becomes necessary.
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