My Family Story

When I interviewed my grandmother, she shared stories of her childhood, and one of my favorites was about the fishing trips she took with her father. Every summer, as soon as the weather warmed, he would wake her before dawn, promising a day of great catches, which was often more of a wish than anything when it came to the trout they loved hunting. Her village is small and filled with a close-knit community, surrounded by fields and rivers close by known for their often murky, cold waters and elusive trout. They would drive through paths in the fields, their rods and a plastic basket in the trunk, while the world still slept. The river felt like a secret place just for them, especially their favorite spot by a tiny cliff right above the water, where they'd set up everything with a clear view of the river. This location was known for its plentiful fish, but the trout they always set out for were notoriously tricky to catch. Fishing for trout was more than just a pastime; it was a game for them. They could sit for hours and sometimes spend days going back to the river without a single bite. My grandmother's father always believed that trout fishing wasn't merely about the catch but about learning to wait and appreciate the quiet moments by the water and about taking in the feeling of accomplishment when they finally succeed. Despite often returning home with baskets filled with small fish that were not trout or many, they were never disheartened. The true joy lay in the time spent together, not just the pursuit of the fish. On those rare occasions when they did catch a trout, it was a cause for celebration. The thrill of feeling the first tug on the line, the excitement of reeling in the fish with her father's steady guidance, and the sight of the silvery trout breaking the surface were moments of pure triumph. Bringing a trout back to the house was a moment of pride, and helping cook it for dinner made it even more special. The memories of those early mornings by the river, the sound of the water, and the quiet strength of my grandmother's father remain with her always. I love my grandmother very much, and I'm proud to say that I've gone to a few rivers there to fish with my father and grandfather, a continuation of the memories. 

Note: I tried my best to translate this from Bulgarian to English, but it's not completely accurate since some of the words couldn't be translated to their true meaning.